


The Extras

by forprussia



Series: I'm Figuring It Out, Okay? [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, M/M, Modern Boy in Thedas, Modern OC in Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:22:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forprussia/pseuds/forprussia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>extra scenes from Needs More Salt - to be incorporated into story at Some Later Date</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Anders

“Shit – not in the face!”

Predictably, those words were followed by a solid punch to the face, just in the general area of my left eye socket and cheekbone.  It felt great.

It was disorienting, getting the shit beat out of you, so it took longer for things to register when the beating actually stopped.  I didn’t notice the thugs run away, or the man who stopped them, until I was quite sure that my body was fully functional and that I wasn’t about to spit out teeth or something. 

After making sure I was good, I preoccupied myself with lamenting over a new tear in my already hellish-looking coat.  The fabric near my elbow had been frayed already, but landing, hard, on the ground and using my elbows as make-shift props obviously made an impact.  I was cursing, when the man who saved me finally spoke.

“Are you alright?” he asked, drawing near.  I stiffened when I realized just how close he was, and wondered how long he had been there, basically right next to me.  When I squinted up at him, I almost relaxed.  It was the healer, whose clinic actually wasn’t all that far from where I got my beat down.

I said I  _almost_ relaxed.  He was still someone I didn’t know; just like he was still a mage, albeit a doctor one, and he was still really tall.  I really, really didn’t like having people stand over me.

“Don’t I look it?” I shot back, maybe a bit snidely.  I swiped an arm across my mouth, trying to wipe away the blood I could feel dripping from a cut on my bottom lip.  My left eye was throbbing, and I knew it was going to start swelling any minute now.  I struggled to stand, just trying to go easy on myself and not make any unnecessarily sudden movements.  Of course, the healer tried to help me, and I jerked back like the guy had a fucking hot poker aimed at me.

He held up his hands, in what I suppose is the universal sign of innocence and harmlessness. 

“I mean no ill-will,” he told me, calmly.  “I run the clinic, just around the corner.  If you allow me, I can heal your wounds.”

“Nah, man,” I said, shuffling back slightly.  “I’m good.  Thanks though.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t look all that surprised.  He took a step back and I breathed easier.

“Then might you simply accompany me to my clinic?  I can at least clean your wounds,” he said, even sounding a bit friendly.  "You'll be safe there."

He started walking in the direction of his little hospital, like he just assumed I’d follow.  I could tell he was attempting to seem harmless, between the giving me space and the gentle tone he spoke with, but I guess it was the nice look on his face that really made me follow him.  If only for the chance to get clean.

Sure, he said ‘clean your wounds’, but surely he wouldn’t mind me taking advantage of the chance to have my first bath in forever.

I stayed a good few paces behind him the entire time, but it was kind of cool.  I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to be on the lookout for muggers.  The mage-healer was off limits to literally everyone in Darktown, and even the real big assholes knew that rule.  I almost couldn't believe it.  

“My name’s Anders,” he introduced himself, throwing the name out from over his shoulder.  I was prompted to say something back when he tossed a look at me after the awkward beat of silence where I missed the social cue to respond in kind.

“Fitz,” I said back, and he nodded and didn’t say anything else.

His clinic was like I remembered it, from my first visit a long time ago.  Only, it was weird to see it empty of people.  There were messes, dirty rags and water, lying about the place, but overall it was nicer than the outside.  Not saying much, but nicer is still nicer.

I followed him with faltering steps, not really knowing where to go, but then the man was shoving a damp cloth at me and holding out a cracked hand mirror.  I took both, grateful for the fact that he was going to let _me_ do the cleaning up.  I had been steeling myself for the treatment, for his hands, and I hadn’t quite convinced myself that I’d be able to handle having someone else’s hands on me.

I got to work, and started talking, mostly out of nerves.

“This is cool of you, man,” I started, cleaning blood and dirt alike off of my face.  When Anders gestured to a water basin, I moved towards that and decided to just have at it.  I peeled off my coat, and then my shirt too, for an impromptu bath.  If Anders thought it odd, he made no mention.  He was puttering around in the back, looking through jars and moving things to and from.  I continued talking.

“I’ll, uh, I can clean this place for you,” I offered, hesitantly, as I looked around the room while I scrubbed my body clean.  “You know, as like, thanks.”

Anders nodded, a bit vacantly, before letting out a small noise of triumph.  He brandished a small jar in the air, turning towards me with a grin on his face.

“I knew I still had some left,” he said, walking over to me.  “This will take care of the swelling on that.”  He nodded at my eye.

I accidentally dropped the rag in the water basin as I tensed up.  The scars that lay across my upper chest seemed to itch, just from his words alone, and I absently brought one hand up to them as I thought on how to reject him.  My movements unintentionally brought Anders’ eyes downwards, and when they narrowed, I decided it was time to get dressed.  I turned my back on him, even though it physically pained me to do so, and tugged my shirt back on, the fabric clinging to my still damp torso.  I grabbed up my coat.

“Nah, I don’t need that,” I told him, my words coming out curt due to my nervousness.  I plunged my hand back into the basin, retrieving the rag, and went to work cleaning a splotch of blood that had landed on my coat.  Not looking up at him, I went on, “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

Anders was silent for a moment, but he conceded without pushing it.  I assumed he was picking up on my anxiety, it’s not like I was really hiding the signs, and he must’ve figured it was best to back off.

“If you’re sure,” he said, a bit dubiously.  He placed the jar on the end table, that lay right next to me and the water I was currently using to scrub my coat clean.  “If you change your mind, feel free to take some.”

I hummed, noncommittally, and he walked away.  I let out a breath, and told myself not to run, even if my body was getting shaky and my brain was telling me I wasn’t safe.  This was the safest place in all of Darktown, maybe even all of Kirkwall.  The irony of the place being owned by a mage, who in turn was probably the safest guy to walk around with in Darktown, was not lost on me.  I mostly just tried to forget the mage part, though.

I shrugged my coat on when all the stains were out, or at least less visible, and ignored the weird way wet fabric felt when you wear it.  I began picking up the trash that littered the room, evidence of a hard day’s work of curing and treating ill people, or whatever.

“What are you doing?” Anders asked me, sounding surprised, after a good five minutes of me cleaning.  I hadn’t noticed him disappear into a backroom, but when I turned around, he was standing in the doorway and watching me with raised brows.

“I told ya I’d clean this shit up for you,” I said, giving him a weird look and then asking where the trash went.

He showed me, commenting, “I didn’t think you meant it.”

I scowled, “’Course I fuckin’ did.”

I did the best I could, though there was one suspiciously gross looking thing near one of the far away cots, and I definitely didn’t want to touch it so I kicked it under the cot when I knew Anders wasn’t looking.  But, other than that, I’d say I did grade A work.

Anders seemed to think so too.  He thanked me, and gave me a chunk of bread that wasn’t even molded.  I wasted no time in scarfing down half of it right then and there, to Anders’ amusement.  I was just in the middle of saying goodbye, awkwardly backing away to the front door and everything, when the man interrupted me.

“How would you feel about coming back later in the week?  You clean, and I’ll find you some food for your work.  That sound like a fair deal?”

I stumbled, still walking backwards to the door, but caught myself before I could fall or something embarrassing like that.  I looked back at him suspiciously.

“Yeah?” Then, just to feel him out, since I really didn’t know this guy whatsoever, I said, “I ain’t touchin’ no one’s shit though, got it?  Ya know, in case you get some poor fuck with dysentery or somethin’.”

Anders blinked at me, and then laughed.  “I can agree to those terms.  We have ourselves a deal then?”

I shrugged, silently making a note to come back in a few days’ time, and left.

~

“I don’t wanna haircut,” I said, sullenly sitting on a stool in the middle of Anders’ clinic.  I had finished cleaning, and Anders had apparently been observing me, because he’d caught on to my scratching problem. 

“You have lice, Fitz,” he told me, stressing his words, with a pair of scissors already in his hands.  He’d washed my hair for me, and I was kind of proud of myself for not twitching too much at his touch, which was why I was actually allowing him to cut my hair.  I liked having it long though, less people took me for a goddamn elf.

Incidentally, this was also the moment when Anders saw my stupid ears. 

My ears weren’t super long, or even all that big.  But here, in Thedas, they were apparently huge as fuck.  Big enough to be mistaken for a goddamn elf, which was just another thing that I could barely believe existed.  Back home, tons of people had ears like mine and, sure, jokes were sometimes made, but that's all they were.  Jokes.  And, maybe the word ‘elf’ was sometimes used the same way ‘four-eyes’ and ‘big-foot’ were used, but it was usually harmless.  You know, like something kids call you in Kindergarten but it kind of stops after elementary school because then it gets more popular to call kids names like 'fag' or 'fuckface'.  Here, though, being an elf so  _wasn’t_ a joke.

Elfishness aside, and to make my point clear – my ears weren’t even all that big, hence why my long hair could hide them.  But, still, they were undeniably longer than the ones that humans in this world had, and they were pointed, so all bets were off on me ever establishing my human-ness in this stupid-ass world.

Anyways, back to my haircut, and the moment Anders realized I was sort of an elf. 

Anders had been washing my hair, and he had actually exclaimed when he saw my ears.  Despite that, he didn’t make too much of a big deal about it, which I was relieved about, but it did lead to some awkward questions.

“I’m pretty sure they close the alienage gates around this time,” he said, hesitating a little bit, like he was thinking about something.  I twitched when he started cutting my hair, and I mourned the locks that fell.  “And you’re always out late.  What do your parents think when you do not return home at night?”

I scrunched up my face, heart twinging at his words.  I smothered the feeling quickly, but it was enough to make me defensive. 

“Fuck off,” I scoffed.  “Insensitive much?  I ain’t got no parents.  And what the shit is an alienage?”

I knew I said something wrong when Anders stopped cutting my hair and, after a moment of silence, I turned around only to see him staring at me in disbelief.  I scowled, feeling heat rush to my face, and asked him what the hell.

His face grew concerned.  “Fitz…an alienage is where elves _live_.  Are you telling me that you had no idea of this, though you are an elf?”

My scowl grew at the slowness with which he spoke to me.  He was acting like I was some foreign entity now, or maybe brain-addled.  I tried not to get even more defensive, kind of, but I failed.

“So what?  Not all elves live in an alienage, or whatever the fuck,” I spat, turning back around.  “Come on, you gonna cut all this shit off or just gape at me like an idiot?”

“Such a pleasant child you are.  I hope you know that, right?” Anders told me, dryly, as he began chopping my hair off once more.

He wasn’t done though, with the talking.  He still had questions.

“Where are you from then, if you are not a city elf?” he asked, sounding pretty interested.  “Are you Dalish?”

“Yeah,” I said, making another face, since I knew he couldn’t see it.  “I don’t talk about it, okay?”

He was quiet for a beat, I guess in respect for the finality in my tone, but then he asked, suddenly, “Where do you live now?”

I didn’t answer.  I could tell that he was going through a whole bunch of thoughts; figuring out that I was homeless, that I had no idea what an alienage was (or even where to find the one in this city), and thinking about my newly established Dalish-ness.  That is, if he believed me on that front.

“I can take you to the alienage tomorrow.  I…don’t know how the elves run them, but I’m sure you’ll find a place to live.  The elves look out for their own, from my experience,” he said, kindly.  I shifted in my seat, and wished he was done.

Anders also made me stay the night in his clinic, which I wasn’t averse to, but he was pretty persistent about it anyways.  I guess he felt bad for all the times he’d sent me off in the past few weeks of my working for him.  I didn’t really understand why he was so surprised about my situation though; from what I could tell, Kirkwall was overflowing with homeless people.  Darktown especially.  I guess I had kind of assumed that he already knew.

He kept his word though.  Anders showed me to the alienage, and I memorized the path, and that’s how I ended up finding room with the hahren.  The hahren, Reeba, already had a few other elves crashing at her place, but since I promised to hand over money occasionally, she welcomed me into her home.  I knew it was better than being on the streets, but the elves weren’t always friendly either.  I got jumped a few times, but they were easier to handle than giant thugs.  I think it was an initiation-like thing, because after a couple times, I was left alone and even felt somewhat accepted by my new neighbors.  I also got more food (just barely) than when I was living on the streets, so that automatically made everything ten times better.

This is also around the time that I first met Sovin and Garrus.  Neither ever tried to mug me, but they were the first to invite me to hang out with others our age. 

I liked it, but I wasn’t happy.  I was okay with that though; it wasn’t too hard to pretend that I was.

~

“I really gotta go, man.”

“Just wait.  One second,” Anders called back.  I waited, impatiently, and scowled at the man when he finally showed.  However, the apple in his hand made me quick to wipe off the mean face.  He smirked, holding the apple out to me.  Very cruelly, he held it up out of reach when I made a swipe for it.  That brought the scowl back.

“Oh, you were all in a rush just now,” he teased, holding the apple higher.  “Shouldn’t you be running out the door, to whatever it is you do?”

“Dude.  Not cool,” I told him, thinking about elbowing him in the gut.  “I didn’t know you had _fruit_.”

Anders took pity on me; he was a pretty tall guy, and I was still quite a few inches shorter at this point (my growth spurt hadn’t happened yet), so it probably looked really sad seeing this kid trying to jump for an apple.  Anders probably looked like a bully, the big jerkwad.

I marveled at the fruit when I had it in my hands.  It was probably the first time I saw a nice piece of fruit since landing in this hellscape.

“I knew Varric had brought some for me, before he left,” Anders was telling me, though I wasn’t really listening.  I bit into the apple and it was perfect.  “I have a whole basket, so if you want another you had better come by more often.  Before I give them away.”

“Are you kidding me?  Give them to me,” I pleaded, looking around him for this supposed basket of heaven food.  Anders leaned in the doorway, effectively blocking me from storming the backroom, even though I totally wasn’t about to do that.

“You still in a hurry?” Anders reminded me, pointedly.  I cursed, and turned around.

Running for the door, and eating my apple, I thanked Anders and ran the rest of the way to the Gallows.

~

I made it in just barely enough time, rubbing sticky fingers off on my pants in an attempt to be presentable.  The guy Athenril assigned me to was staring me down with a whole new level of disapproval, but I just stared back extra insolently.  I knew by now to always assume the worst of people – this guy was probably a racist.

“Cutting it close, knife-ear,” he said, scowling at me.  “Almost gave your spot to one of those fuckers.”  The man, whose name was Wallis, nodded his head to a couple of street urchins across the way, and I shrugged.

“Well, gee,” I drawled, sarcastically.  “Shame, bro, but I’m here.  And on fuckin’ time.”

His scowl worsened at the mocking way I spoke to him, and he probably would’ve hit me, if we didn’t have work to do.

“I was told you’re not supposed to talk.  Guess now I know why,” Wallis said, rather dismissively towards the end, though he was quick to zone back in on me with a severe look.  He launched into a brief speech on what we were doing, not even giving me a chance to ask why I wasn’t supposed to talk.  He finished with a firm, “Got that?”, and I finally got a chance to talk.

“How the fuck am I supposed to not talk?” I asked, indignantly.  “What if they ask me questions?”

“Then nod your fucking head like a witless tart,” he told me, quite meanly, already looking around for our marks.

“Well, that’s pretty offensive.  And totally not PC of you,” I said, just to be contradictory.  Again, Wallis looked at me like he was going to hit me, but just then he was distracted.  Our marks had arrived. 

He greeted them warmly, and they only seemed momentarily surprised at our presence.  Once Wallis explained that we were sent to collect them (a false claim, by the way), they lost all suspicion immediately, and Wallis wasted no time in pimping me out to carry their bags. 

They were a mother-daughter duo, new to the city and just visiting while a member of their family did business in Kirkwall.  You could say Wallis and I were the welcoming party.  Wallis was going to tell them all about the sights and scenes of Kirkwall (yippee) and I was going to help them get settled into their temporary home.  Luckily, they had sent most of their luggage on ahead of them.  I only had to carry two carpetbags of stuff. 

The daughter, whose name I can’t actually recall, watched me bend down to pick up their stuff.  I smiled my best, most endearing smile, and did a small bow to her before straightening up, their bags thrown over my shoulder.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” I greeted, with as much French accent as I could manage.  It did the job.  The girl’s eyes went all wide and curious.

“Oh!” she exclaimed.  “You are from Orlais?”

I could physically feel Wallis glaring daggers at me, and had to fight to make sure my pleasant smile didn’t turn into a smirk.  I gave a quick, submissive “yes, miss” in French.

“Mother,” the girl said, turning to the older woman with excitement.  “Look, it’s an _Orlesian_ elf.”

The mother peered over at me.  I would say she peered ‘up’ at me, but the way she held herself made me feel really small.  I wasn’t used to this whole nobility thing yet.

“Really?  And what are you doing up here, boy?”  Her words were curt, but her tone definitely held an edge of interest.  I shrugged, mentally, and just assumed that French, or Orlesian, was a novelty.  I smiled, brightly, and just spoke more French at them.

“He doesn’t speak Common,” Wallis said, through grit teeth, before gesturing for us to move along. 

We walked through the streets of Hightown, and Wallis pointed out various points of interest to the women along the way, though who knows how much of it was embellishment or lies.  It wasn’t long before we hit their new residence, which was a real ritsy sort of place.  They were staying at some Free Marcher noble’s home, a close friend of theirs apparently, though the owners were not in town at the moment.  Coincidentally, this is also the reason why we intercepted this mother-daughter duo in the Gallows.  The owner of the estate they were staying at owed Athenril big or something like that, so the whole situation gave us the perfect opportunity to get even.  Or, you know, to help Athenril get even.  I didn’t really care; I just wanted to get paid.

The young girl, who was probably only a year or two younger than me, kept looking back at me and smiling.  I smiled back, of course, but I was honestly a little weirded out.  I thought she was going to follow me up the stairs when I was sent to put their bags away, and I was relieved when her mother grabbed her attention.  It was my job to do a little pilfering, so it’s not like I could do that with an audience. 

I had my messengers bag with me, a gift from Athenril when I first started working for her, and I filled it up with as much as it could hold.  I went after the higher end items, which were explained to me as being anything gold or silver colored.  I totally lucked out, and found a whole bunch of sovereigns and silvers, by accident, when I almost knocked over a vase and heard the bits jangling around inside.  Then, I had a slight conundrum.  Wallis would probably shake me down once we left, to make sure I wasn’t sneaking anything, and that left me wondering after the most secure hiding spot on my body that wasn’t totally predictable.  I ended up sliding a few sovereigns into one of the rips on my coat.  The tear on my left sleeve was superficial; since my coat was a proper winter one from my world, the tear didn’t go all the way through so it created an impromptu pocket instead.  I was able to slide the coins down the rip, and they fell all the way to my cuff; neatly encased by the inside lining of my jacket and the outside.  The jacket was puffy enough to hide to indents of the coins as well.  So long as Wallis didn’t _literally_ shake me down, I’d be fine.  

~

Turned out to be a good plan.  Wallis took great joy in roughing me up a bit as he checked me for illegal profits; he even boxed my ears, saying he had to make sure I didn’t use them as a hiding place.  I wondered, while I took his abuse with stoic indifference, if Athenril would mind his blatant elf-racism.  I mentioned it to him, but all he did was kick my feet out from under me; making me land in a heap on the dirty cement of some back alley of Hightown. 

My fear surged, and I cursed my stupidity, but Wallis didn’t attack me while I was down.  He laughed, cruelly, and told me Athenril would send payment in a week or two.  That almost took my fear away, as anger took over, but I still had enough common sense not to yell obscenities as the man left me lying in the alleyway.

It was good I stole some coins, I needed to pay rent.  And buy food. 

~  
Anders sighed when he next saw me.  I knew it was because of the new black eye I was sporting, but I tried vainly to ignore it and pretend all was normal. 

He didn’t say anything until I finished cleaning a particularly stubborn stain out of one of the pillows meant for the cots.  He handed over an apple, which I gratefully began savoring, before he actually mentioned the eye.

“Will I ever see you free of injuries?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving me his best disappointed doctor stare.  I took a large bite of apple to avoid saying anything immediately.

“Can’t it be enough that you’re seein’ me?” I replied, batting my eyes at him.  “Can’t you just be happy with my general presence?  Maybe bask in it?”

Anders groaned, and turned away from me.  He headed over to his desk, to do god knows what.  I wasn’t interested; with him off my back, I could finally enjoy my apple in peace.

“You know, Fitz,” he called, leaning over a piece of paper and writing intently on the thing.  “You remind me of a dear friend of mine.  It’s uncanny sometimes.”

“Yeah?  Well, I’m a hundred percent original so your friend can suck it,” I called back, laughing at the sigh Anders let out.

“There’s a reason people want to hit you,” he responded, deadpan.  “And it’s that mouth of yours.”

“Pshh.  That’s not what your mother said last night,” I said, guffawing as he turned to send me an aghast look.

“I am pretty sure you are not old enough to understand jokes like that,” he said, mockingly.  “Tell me, Fitz, did you hear someone say that in the Docks or at the Hanged Man?  Oh, wait…”

I scowled as the man started laughing at me.  I had told him, indignantly, about how the bartender had thrown me out a while ago.  The guy had told me he let in quite enough ingrates without adding twelve year olds to the mix, and I was super offended.  Of course, now I regretted telling Anders this since the man found it all extremely amusing.  He liked acting like I was a kid, probably since I refused to tell him my real age. 

"I'm gonna chuck this at your head," I retorted, holding my apple core up.  Anders rolled his eyes, turning back to whatever he was writing.

"Yeah, that's right," I muttered to myself, sitting down on the cot nearest me and reclining.  "Surrender, asshole."

~

Anyway, Anders’ clinic was basically a refuge of mine back then.  Every time I showed up, the guy usually ended up finding some kind of food to shove at me, and no matter what, it was always a safe space.  I ran from many thugs and the like back then, on my own time as well as when I was on the clock for Athenril, and since most of that shit went down in Darktown, it made sense that Anders’ clinic was my go-to.

So really, it makes perfect sense that I would first meet Hawke there, some months after becoming sort-of friends with Anders.  It’s kind of funny, when I look back on it, just because it gets me thinking about how ill prepared I was for Hawke, and for the way he just barged into my life.  It makes me ache, to think about it.  I don’t believe in any gods, but sometimes I can’t help but think that there’s no way I was lucky enough to just happen to run into that guy.  And, sometimes, I send a quiet thanks out into the air.  You know, just in case.


	2. Meeting Fenris

I was told to avoid the mansion.  Some of the guys I hung around with in the alienage, the ones who also delivered letters around Hightown, had many stories about the bad shit that went down around that estate; including murders and disappearances.  Weird CSI Mystery type shit, like the exaggerated and totally unreal stuff.

Of course, I figured they were just trying to scare me off.  You know, get the new guy to scat so that they have less competition during the work day.  But I wasn’t about to have any of that, so I wrote their stories off to be just stories.  That’s not to say I totally ignored them, though. 

The stories were interesting.  An abandoned mansion in Hightown, which wasn’t all that rare apparently, but still.  A few of my pals said it was haunted, while the others said that slavers waited in that place for unsuspecting elves.  Either way, they were some pretty great ghost stories.  I wasn’t even planning on checking it out; not until I heard about the treasure that lay inside of it.  One of the guys I spoke to was psyched about the riches, since there was supposed be a ton of gold lying around or something, which caught my attention hella quick.  That guy was also the one who told me that the dude who owned the place was some rich bastard, one of those intellectual types, who really fucking loved books, didn't know how to spend their money, and apparently hated Kirkwall since they were never fucking there.  Magic was brought up too, and books on magic.  So, you know, that also got my attention.  

I decided I had to go take a look, since it was literally right there, and no guards ever went by it.  I mean, that probably should have warned me off, but my main thought was ‘rad, no one to kick me out!’.  Of course, I did get kicked out.  It just wasn’t by a city guard.

~

I snuck in during the afternoon, on one of the slower days where there wasn’t much work coming my way.  I called it quits early, and headed for the mansion that had been pointed out to me in whispers by my messenger friends. 

I guess it was impressive, if you were into that architectural shit.  It looked like a rich guy’s house, the kind that had seen better days, you know?  A lot of the windows overlooking the street were broken in, and the front door looked like it had been kicked open, and fixed, many times in the past.

The door was still locked when I tried to open it, which sort of surprised me.  I shrugged though, and went about picking it.  Lockpicking was one of the first things Athenril taught us lowly street urchins, and it was something you kind of picked up out of necessity when you’re living on the streets and shit, so it wasn’t long before I had the door swinging open.  That's not to say I was mad skilled at lockpicking - I think the lock was either weak or kind of broken to begin with.

There weren't piles of gold.  There was a lot of blood though, if you want my first impression.

I walked over the bloodstained doormat, which was maybe a bit off-putting, and took in the sight of a pretty trashed looking mansion.  Debris and piles of trash littered the entry way, and there was more blood than I really expected.  However, all that scary stuff left my mind once I got farther into the mansion and started checking out some of the rooms that ran to the left wing of the place.  The first room I entered held these massive bookshelves, all full with big-ass books, and even the floor was home to ripped up pieces of paper and other such stuff. 

I bypassed the trash on the floor, heading right for the first bookshelf I saw.  I did what anybody else would’ve done; I started reading.  I probably would’ve stayed all night, if Fenris hadn’t found me.

He snuck up on me while I was reaching for one of the top shelves, having finished looting the lower shelves for useful looking tomes.  The room also held a desk and chair, which were both pretty well intact considering the rest of the place’s decrepit nature.  So, I had dragged the tall chair over and stood on it so that I could reach more books.  I still had to stand on tippy-toes just to make it work, which is why when Fenris finally spoke, after fucking ninja-ing up behind me, I fell off the damn chair.

“What do you think you are doing?”

I flailed, like an idiot, and tripped myself.  He caught me though, which was pretty nice of him, I guess.  It was less nice when he immediately pulled back, and I stumbled towards the bookshelf from the force of his movement.  I nearly fell over my neat stack of books, which I had been planning to steal, but caught myself at the last minute.

“Whoa, who the fuck are you?” I asked, gasping and clutching my chest from the shock.  I got a good look at the guy while I was at it.

My first impression of Fenris was that he was tall; or, at least, taller than any elf I’d ever seen.  He had maybe a few inches on me back then, and, let me tell you, Fenris is intimidating enough without having him basically towering over you in a dark room that held more blood than décor. 

“The better question is,” the man said lowly. “Who are you?  And what are you doing in my mansion?”

“ _Your_ mansion?” I asked, in disbelief.  “Uh, well, I heard it was an _abandoned_ mansion…not a…inhabited mansion.”

He frowned at me, and I couldn’t stop myself from stiffening when he raised one hand, leaving it hovering over the wicked-looking sword that hung over his back.  I raised both arms in a surrender pose.

“Hey, man, I ain’t even armed.  Not need to start aimin’ stuff at me,” I practically pleaded.  “I just wanted to look around, I swear to god.”

“And to steal from me?”

I looked down at the books he’d just nodded to, before sheepishly bobbing my head up and down.  “Um, I wasn’t gonna _steal_ ‘em.  Just, uh, borrow them?  For like a week, maybe?  I was gonna bring ‘em back.”

The elf stared me down, and I damn near wet my pants.  Finally, he took a step back and I was able to breathe easier, just a bit.

“Take your loot and leave this place.”

Nodding, enthusiastically, I bent down and grabbed up my books.  I stuffed them into the bag I’d brought specifically for my wares, and then proceeded to back out of the room.  I didn’t exactly want to show my back to this guy.

“Yo, thanks, man.  I really apprecia–”

“Don’t come back here.  Ever.”

“Got it! See ya!”

~

I listened to his grouchy orders for a good few weeks.  However, after I went through all the books he’d let me keep, I was jonesing to return.  Which I did.  After I was certain the elf was gone.

It was pure luck.  I was in Hightown one day, just doing my job like normal, when I saw the guy out of the corner of my eye.  He was talking to a redhead, who I didn’t yet know as Aveline, and they were heading for the stairs that led out of this section of the city.  Assuming the elf was going to be gone for the day, I delivered the missive I currently held in my hands with neck-breaking speed, and then headed right for his mansion.

Now that I knew it wasn’t actually deserted, I was quick and attentive during my robbery of the place.  In the beginning.  For, like, five minutes or something like that.  

Of course, I’m not the best with attention stuff, so I lost myself in reading when I should’ve just been shoving books in my bag and hightailing it out of the damn mansion. 

This time, Fenris caught me sitting in the chair, rather than standing on it. 

“You,” was his greeting, followed by a deadpan, if a little hostile, “Again.”

I jerked, feeling like I was physically torn from my book, and I looked around at the elf wildly.

“Ah, shit,” I let out without thinking, after catching sight of the impressive scowl on the guy’s face.  “Aw, man, I’m sorry!  I know you told me to keep out, but I swear, I’m jus’ readin’!”

“Get out.”

I stood up slowly.  “Please, can I just…I just wanna read!  Can I – ”

“Take the books and go,” he told me, through gritted teeth.  “But, this will be the last time.  Should I catch you invading my personal…living quarters again, I will not be so lenient.”

“Aw, but…the books,” I looked around at the bookshelves I hadn’t yet gotten to.  Of course, I was leaving pretty quickly when Fenris shifted threateningly, but it was still painful to go.  Even if he let me steal another bag’s worth of books. 

In all, none of the books were useful.  I kept maybe three of them because they were interesting.  The rest I sold for a pretty good amount at the market. 

I didn’t go back to the mansion after that last time; I wasn’t sure if Fenris would gut me or not.  He gave off a pretty terrifying first impression, so I wasn’t all that willing to push my luck any further.

Of course, now I knew he wouldn’t have _actually_ killed me, or even hurt me.  Like, at all.  I mean, yeah, he probably would have thrown me out, physically, but I’d have been fine.  Probably would’ve been able to convince him to let me steal some more books, too.  But, I was doing that ‘careful’ thing where I tried not to put my life on the line, or play with too much fire - like self-preservation or some shit like that.

I laugh about it now, because it totally figured he’d be friends with a guy like Hawke.


	3. First (Professional) B&E

“What are you doing?”

“Fuck!”

I twitched violently, dropping pick I had been using in my surprise.  Though it was dark, and I was currently trying to break into some guy’s house in Lowtown, I wasn’t scared; I knew the voice that startled me.

“Jesus Christ, man,” I exclaimed, almost forgetting to keep my voice quiet, and spun around to glare at Hawke, who stared me down with arms crossed.  Despite the darkness, as the street was really only illuminated by the lights in the windows of the buildings around us, I could make out the forms of Isabela and Anders standing just behind Hawke, both of whom were attempting to smother laughter.  “You people float or some shit?  The fuck you walk so quiet for?”

Isabela broke and laughed first, while Hawke lost the judging stare and actually smiled at me.

“Sadly, we walk just as you do.  I think your hearing is just weak,” he said, already lifting a hand towards my head.  I jerked away, hastily picked up my fallen tool, and stood up. 

Hawke retracted the hand, but not before he looked me over with consideration, and said, “Or, perhaps, it’s all that hair.”

“Fuck off ‘bout the hair, I’m not letting you losers cut it,” I told him firmly, sending a quick scowl at Anders and adding, “Last time I let that happen, I was, like, fuckin’ bald.”

“You had lice,” Anders said, exasperatedly (probably since I never let the incident go).  “You wouldn’t take the potion, remember?  So, I _had_ to shave all your hair off.”  I didn’t miss the accusing tone, though I did ignore it.

“Whatevs,” I dismissed, looking around the deserted street.  My eyes had long since grown used to the darkness, and I could see quite well all that aside, but I was still nervous about people watching me or something.  “You mind goin’ away?  I’m a bit busy right now.”

“Busy with illegal acts?  You’re lucky Aveline isn’t here,” Hawke commented, making no movements whatsoever to leave; instead, he just fucking made himself comfortable, leaning against the wall of the building I was trying to break into.

“You say illegal, and I say ‘generally frowned upon by an unfair system designed to keep the poor in their place’,” I shot back, unsure of what to do now.  It was evident Hawke wasn’t about to just go on his merry way, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t get me busted.  For all his words, I knew he wasn’t a saint either, and he also had a pirate and an apostate mage with him, so he really didn’t have room to talk.  But, still.  Athrenil was a stickler for making sure we did our work discretely, and I didn’t want her to think I was bringing tag-alongs, even if it was her prized ex-employee.

Hawke was looking at me with a bit of surprise.  “That was…rather astute of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said breezily, before turning my attention back onto the blasted door I had been working on before this surprise visit happened.  “So, like, bye?  I gotta get this over with, and I can’t have you hangin’ around.”

Hawke’s expression was definitely amused now.  And, apparently, Isabela wasn’t able to keep out of the conversation any longer, because suddenly she was pushing herself forward with a grin.

“Hanging around, you say?  Oh, sweetness, it’s so cute to see you act all official with us,” she said, in a way that had me squinting at her, unsure of whether to be insulted or not.  “And we shan’t interfere with this very serious mission of yours, but your lock-picking skills are terribly unrefined.  Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

Isabela lifted the lock-pick out of my hand before I could even reply, and then she was showing me how to properly use it.  It was true that I only knew a little about picking locks, so my attempts had been going along the ‘hope-and-pray’ method rather than any actual skill.  I had learned it from some of the other alienage elves, back when I was still new to the neighborhood, but we mostly practiced on simple locks and the one Isabela was now fiddling with was much more complicated.

“There.  Did you understand all that?” she asked, pushing the door open slightly with a triumphant look on her face.

“Yeah.  Wow,” I breathed, taking my pick back when she held it out.  “Uh, thanks.  See ya.”

It was awkward, but I was totally about to just slip into the house and leave them all in the doorway rather than try to shoo them away again.  I figured it was better that way, until Hawke decided to follow me.

“Shit,” I hissed, immediately turning around and throwing an arm out to push him back. 

The main room was empty, as was the rest of the house.  The only reason Athenril gave me this job was because the place was going to be deserted, otherwise I wasn’t near skilled enough to deal with other people.  She didn’t trust me that much, but I guess I should be rather grateful that she was at least giving me a chance with this.  Usually I just dealt with messages, and working under other people, so this was a nice change; to just be working by myself.  You know, until Hawke showed.

“Go.  Away.”  I tried to elbow him, but he stood firm and just looked down at me with a stupid grin.  “Dude, seriously.  This is my _job_.”

“You don’t want back-up?” he asked, and I almost elbowed him again, just for the playful tone he used.

“Hawke...let the boy be,” Isabela said, giving Hawke a look.  “Weren’t we on a tight schedule ourselves?  Something so important, you wouldn’t even let me drink that third ale?”

Hawke had to turn his face away to look at her, so I didn’t really see his expression, but I saw Isabela’s and it seemed like they were talking via facial movements.  Behind them both, I heard Anders sigh.

“She’s right,” Anders put in, sounding somewhat reluctant.  “We already cleared out the thugs on this street and the next.  Fitz should have no trouble getting back to the alienage.”

I opened my mouth to say that I wasn’t actually going back to the alienage after this, since I knew the gates were going to be closed and the guards were dicks about latecomers, but, at the last second, I realized it was smarter to keep that to myself.  Otherwise, I would have stupidly informed them that I was actually planning on sneaking into Anders clinic later and just stealing one of the cots there…

Hawke hesitated, but in the end he relented.  He looked back at me before they left, told me to be careful, and then they were gone, closing the door behind them and everything.

I didn’t move for a good few seconds, just staring at the shut door in confusion.  I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why Hawke had looked so worried, or why he even cared.  We’d only known each other for maybe two months, perhaps a bit longer than that, so there really wasn’t any reason to care that much about me.  I wasn’t even nice to the guy half the time we spoke, and I just didn’t get it.

But, like I said, I only stood there for a few seconds; it didn’t take long for me to shrug the whole encounter off, preferring to shove those thoughts far away.  I wanted to impress Athenril, and I’d already wasted enough time doing nothing, but if I hurried, I might still be able to make good time returning.  She wanted papers (another reason for her sending me – I was one of the few low-lings that could actually read).  Specific papers, of course, detailing business transactions or something.  That was simple enough that they’d just be in a desk, rather than painstakingly hidden.

Easy.


	4. In Which Fitz is Kind of Mean

“Yo, watch it.”

The human jumped, twirling around to face me or, rather, the general direction of me.  I gave them a lazy grin and waved from where I was sat on the ledge a few yards away from them, my movement giving my position away completely as the human's head locked onto me now.  I shifted around a bit, letting one leg fall from where it had been pressed up against my chest.  I wanted to go for a casual, care-free look now that I finally called the guy out, especially since he was so jumpy.

I had watched the human wander into the alienage, which was pretty empty since it was getting rather late, and couldn’t help but be amused by the faltering way they were walking.  Like they thought they were going to be jumped, which, to be fair, was a very valid fear.  They’re lucky my pals weren’t hanging around in the courtyard right now.  As it was, the human hesitated for a few moments, but ultimately they decided to walk over to me regardless.  Up close I could tell that it was a young guy, maybe a few years older than me, and he looked just as nervous as he had when he was farther away.

“Didn’t they tell you not to wander into elven territory past nightfall?” I drawled, kicking my leg against the wall I sat on.  “Better leave soon, before others see you.  Or before the guards shut you in for the night.”  I laughed at the thought, and at the tight look on the guy's face as he wrung his hands in front of me.

“I am in search of someone.  An elf–”

“No _shit_ ,” I crowed, with a wide grin.  “And ya didn’t think to look in Hightown?  Sheesh.”

“Do you mind,” the human finally found the balls to cut in, speaking to me with just a smidge of anger.  “If you would allow me to speak, I would’ve went on to say that I am looking for an elven woman by the name of Merrill.”

I stared at him, long enough for him to start fidgeting, and probably regretting the harsh tone he used with me.  Rather than respond right away, I hopped off the ledge, smirking a bit when he jumped back.  He had to crane his neck a little to meet my eyes, and his mouth was just the slightest bit agape as he stared at me.

“Well, why didn’t you jus’ ask,” I said haughtily, waving a hand, signaling for him to follow me.  “Right this way, although I should warn you first, she’s got company over.  Like, the strong, mercenary types, ya know?  So if you’re lookin’ to start shit, get lost now.”  I glanced back at him, making sure he saw the disdain in my eyes before I spoke again.

“Eh, she could take you alone, anyways.  Single-handedly.”

“I mean no harm, I swear to the–” he cut himself off when I just opened Merrill’s door without warning, and he hesitated on the doorstep.  “Is it elven custom to enter a house without knocking?”

“Get in, dickhead, or I’ll shut the door.”

“Ah!  And the prodigal son returns at long last!”  I scowled when I heard that voice, cursing internally. 

I hadn’t actually expected Merrill to have company, but I should’ve known better.  Hawke and some of our other friends were almost _always_ over.  To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have walked right in if I had known he was here.  Too late now.

The human took a few faltering steps inside, obviously caught off guard by the dulcet tones of a Hawke.

“And where have you been, serah?  Out so late, hmm?”

I scowled and ducked the hand that was aimed at my head.  Hawke had gotten up from the table to meet me half-way, forcing me do some rather awkward maneuvering just to avoid him.  I walked over to my cot and flopped down.

“Fuck off,” I threw out, casually, before remembering the guy I’d invited in.  Merrill wasn't in the main room, but it's not like she could be that far away.  The house wasn't _that_ big.  

“I brought a human sacrifice for you, Merrill," I called out, cheerfully, from my bed, stretching lightly and watching for the new guy's reaction.

“Huh?” came Merrill’s confused voice, closely followed by a more panicked one from the human.  I rolled my eyes.  Honestly, humans.  So scared of elves.

“Chillax, bro.  You’re a jumpy guy, you know that?” I said, stretching my arms behind my head and laying on them. 

“You’re one to talk.  If he’s jumpy, you’re twitchy.”  Hawke threw something at me, and I did indeed twitch when it fell over me.  “See.  Twitchy.”

“Hawke, don’t make fun of Fitz,” Merrill admonished, coming out from the side room and placing a book on the table where two tea cups already sat.  

“Yeah, Hawke,” I put in, pulling myself up to check out what Hawke had thrown at me.  “What the shit is this?”

“Fitz!  Language!” Merrill practically cried, now heading over to the awkward human.  “We have a guest!”

I watched the guy hesitatingly greet Merrill, obviously taken off guard by her bubbly introduction or whatever.  I tuned it out in the next moment to turn my attention back to Hawke.  I threw his gift, which had turned out to be a coat, back at him and scowled when he caught it with one quick hand.

“I already got a coat, asshole.”

Hawke gave me a look, complete with one judge-y eyebrow raised and everything.  “You keep saying it’s a coat, but I can’t say I’m convinced.  It looks more like an ancient tent that you fashioned to have armholes.”

“Shut the fu- _frig_ up.  It doesn’t look like a freakin’ tent.”  I pulled my hood up, as if to make a point.  The fur-lined edging fell over my eyebrows, and hung low enough to partially obscure my vision.  I made a face at Hawke for good measure.  "It's a normal coat, not that _you_ would know.  You don't even wear _sleeves_."

“Oh, why, it looks so much better without your face showing,” Hawke said sarcastically, ignoring the dig I made at him.  He put down the tea cup he’d just taken a sip from and stood up, walking over to me with what I was sure was ill-intent.  “Honestly, Fitzy, that thing has more holes than fabric.”

“Nuh-uh.  I patched all of ‘em,” I said, a smidge proud of myself for my fix-up job.  It wasn't in any means a perfect fix, but I didn't need perfect.  I just needed this coat.

When Hawke attacked, it was quick and merciless.  He leaned down in one swift movement, catching me by utter surprise, and held me in a headlock.  Then, he proceeded to pull my hood down even lower so that it covered nearly my whole face.  I cursed and struggled until we were practically wrestling.

“Merrill!” I called out, shameless enough to cry for help.

“Hawke!” Her scandalized reply rang through the room.  “Be careful with him!”

I squawked indignantly, flailing an arm extra wildly in the hope that I would get him in the face.  “Tell ‘im to get off!”

Hawke laughed obnoxiously, giving me one last noogie before finally letting me go.  I spat more curses at him as I tore my hood off to glare at him.  He just laughed some more, even when I kicked him in the shin.

“Heh!  Ow, that hurt, you little shit.”  He reached down to touch his leg, but didn’t retaliate.  I edged off my bed and scurried over to Merrill anyways.

She was speaking to the human near the entry way, apparently the guy didn’t really want to come in.  I noticed he wore a slight smile when he glanced at me, and I assumed it was from Hawke’s embarrassing antics, so I gave the guy a dirty look. 

“He’s not gone yet?”

Merrill tsked, shooting me an appalled look.  “Fitz, don’t be rude.” 

She went right back to speaking with the guy, but he left a few minutes later anyways.  He did say thanks though, for whatever his problem was.

“What’d he want?”

“Don’t you listen?” Hawke called out, and when I turned, I saw that he was sprawled across my cot. 

“Get off, you tub,” I shot back, quickly walking back over to him.  “You don’t even fit on that!”  I tried to pull him off, but he just pulled back.

“Don’t call me fat.”

“Honestly!” Merrill finally had enough.  We both turned to see her standing in the center of her living room, with her hands on her hips and an exasperated look on her face.  “You are both acting like children.”

“He started it,” I said, and Hawke pushed me aside so that I stumbled and almost fell.  “See?!  I’m innocent!”

Merrill wasn’t impressed, but she did give Hawke a look and he sighed like he was suddenly remorseful or something.  He finally stood, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and then proceeded to ruffle my already messed up hair.  I bore it, sullenly. 

“Please, Fitzy, forgive me,” he said mournfully.  “Let’s not make Merrill upset.”

I told him to fuck off.

Unfortunately, Hawke didn’t leave after that, which meant he was there when three quick, and soft, knocks came to the front door.  I heaved a sigh, already anticipating the reproach in Hawke’s face as I began to take my leave.

“Where are you going?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.  Oh, he knew; that knock was code for all Athenril’s underlings.  As an ex-employee of hers, he would have recognized it immediately.

“You know, here.  There.”  I waved a hand and headed to the door.  “Catch ya’s later.”

I heard Hawke stand up, and when I looked back he was following me, a frown prominent on his face.

“I thought you stopped this.”

“Just ‘cuz you happen, doesn’t mean a guy can stop workin’,” I said, a bit testily.  I was keeping my partner waiting.  I put one hand on the doorknob, but Hawke stopped me with one hand on my shoulder.  I tried to shrug him off, which failed, but I was prepared to wait for him to speak anyways.

“You work during the day.  How much money do you need?”

I grinned, though it probably looked stiff.  “Time’s money, bro.”

I tried to pull the door open, but Hawke abandoned his grip on my shoulder in order to the close the door on me.  Now, I was getting pissed.

“Back the fuck off, Hawke,” I said through grit teeth, yanking on the doorknob to no avail.  I let go suddenly, and spun to face him.  I saw Merrill hovering in the back, worried but not really sure whether to intervene or not.

“I don’t think you realize how dangerous this line of work is, Fitz,”  Hawke told me, staring down at me seriously.  I scowled up at him.

“Well, been doin’ it for a year, ain’t I?  I think I know it’s fuckin’ dangerous already,” I spat.  “Now, cut the shit and let me leave.”

Hawke stayed as he was for a moment longer, and I itched to move away, because his arm was stretched out right next to my head.  I knew it was Hawke, and he wouldn’t hurt me, but the position still made me nervous. 

He lowered his arm, and I wrenched the door open immediately. 

“Bye,” I said, just for civility’s sake.  “See ya later, Merrill.”

“Be safe, Fitz," Merrill called back, sounding a bit nervous.  I felt bad for causing a scene in front of her, but it was too late to dwell on it. 

Without looking at Hawke, I breezed through the door, pulling it shut behind me quickly.  My partner, an elf I didn’t really hang with all that much, sent a glare my way from where he was lounging against the grimy wall of Merrill’s house.  “Took you long enough.  We’re going to be late because of you.”

“Oh, get stuffed.  Just walk faster.”

~

A week later, I burst into the Hanged Man, making several patrons jump and curse me.  I ignored them all; I was headed for one specific table, to one specific person, and I didn’t give a shit if I pissed people off or not.  

“What the fuck, dipstick?” I called out, as I weaved between tables to get to the one in the far corner.  Hawke and the others were sat around it as usual.  They’d have noticed my entry immediately, but none of them even turned to give me a look, despite my loud words, though I did see Isabela move to cover her mouth.  The scowl on my face deepened, and I shoved past a table a little too roughly, earning some more glares from innocent drunks.  “Ay, _I_ _said_ , what the fucking fuck, Hawke?”

I reached him, finally, and smacked the piece of paper I held in my hand right in his face.  He jolted back, grabbing the paper almost immediately, and I pulled my arm away before he could grab my wrist or something.  I glared at him, while all he did was give me raised brows. 

“What’s got you all riled up today, Fitzy?”

I squared my jaw, not appreciating the jokey tone.  “You, you fuckin’–”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth, kid?”

“Fuck off,” I spat, without even taking note of who said that.  I kept glaring at Hawke.  “Whatever you did, or said, take it the fuck back.  I mean it, man.”

Hawke rolled his eyes, before looking down at the piece of paper.  He read it quickly, and he sighed once he reached the end.  “She didn’t take you off the roster completely, Fitz.  Just the nighttime gigs.”

“Yeah, exactly.  Now tell her to put me back.”

“Why?” he asked, impatience coloring his voice this time.  “I don’t understand why you must put yourself in such danger, when you are already making good money in safer conditions.”  He was, of course, referring to my messenger job, and while he absolutely had a point, it still pissed me the hell off.

“That’s comin’ from your bourgie ass,” I said through grit teeth.  “I’m fuckin’ poor as shit, man.  And you gotta step the fuck back.  My life ain’t your fuckin’ business, alright?”

Hawke frowned at me, possibly attempting to translate my words, because, even though I was pissed as hell, I could tell my accent had gotten thicker and probably hard to understand.  I tried to get myself under control before I spoke again.

“You can’t decide this shit for me, okay?  So not cool.” 

Hawke stared back at me, adopting a rather impassive face.  He didn’t sound all that remorseful when he finally responded.  “Unfortunately, it is out of my hands right now.  My deal with Athenril is final, and I can’t go back on my word.”

I felt my anger come back with a vengeance, and my head got that fuzzy feeling.  “Your fuckin’ word?  What the fuck, you makin’ deals on me now, yeah?  You fuckin’ punk.”

“Listen, Fitz, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair next to Varric, who helpfully pulled it out for me.  “I will explain if – where are you going now?”

“Nah, you can go fuck yourself.  I’ma go fuck around Darktown, maybe find some mercs to work for, ya know?” I snapped back, giving him the finger as I headed for the exit.  I flat out ran when I heard Hawke stand up, and pretty soon I was half way across Lowtown.

I was so amazingly angry with Hawke for what he did.  He had no right to interfere like that, as if I wasn’t old enough to know what the hell I was doing.  Yeah, working for Athenril was dangerous work, and it was even more so at night.  But, I knew the risks, and I fucking dealt with them, because I had to.  I was trying to save up money; as best I could as a poverty-stricken elf in this fucking city, and the elf-thing alone makes things ten times harder. 

I mean, I get it.  Hawke thought he was just looking out for me.  He didn’t know I was saving money, and he did have a point all those times he told me about the dangers of smuggling.  He knew I didn’t have all the training and those damn fighting skills that he and the others had.  Of course, he’d shown me some stuff, and he’d promised to keep teaching me, so why wasn’t it good enough that I was learning?  I didn’t get why he thought I couldn’t handle myself just because I wasn’t trained from birth to kill shit.  I mean, what the hell did he think I was up to for all those weeks I spent living on the streets?  Or the near-on yearlong smuggling work I did before even fucking meeting him? 

I was so insulted and maybe a bit hurt that he thought I was so weak that he went to Athenril and made a deal with her just to cut me out.  I ran across Kirkwall, not stopping til I reached my spot in Hightown.  I almost fell when I ducked into my little alcove, having tripped over one of the overgrown vines that hung from the walls and draped across the pavement.  In my anger, I punched the wall; breaking the skin on my knuckles and causing painful trills to run up my fist and arm.  The fuzziness in my head took over for a brief moment, or longer, and when I came back I was on the ground and my hand was a mess of blood and pain. 

With a headache forming in the back of my head, I gently lifted my hand to inspect it.  I moved my fingers, and nothing hurt too badly, so I figured I was fine.  Next, I rifled around in my pockets and eventually pulled out a kerchief Merrill had given me a while ago.  I didn’t think she’d mind me using it to mop up blood, so I wasted no time in wrapping it tightly around my fist.

I felt stupid afterwards, of course.  I hated when my anger got the better of me, and while I really was trying to get better at controlling it, I still had moments when it just felt so damn impossible.  Resting my head against the vegetated wall, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind of everything.  Sometimes, after I got really upset, I’d delve into a panic attack of some sort, and I really hoped to avoid that at all costs. 

It might’ve taken hours before I felt up to leaving my alcove, but, even though I was drained, I knew I had to leave eventually.  It was just starting to get dark out when I got up again, and when I finally got back to the alienage, the sun had completely set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started as a self-indulgent bit of writing, and ended in angst. 
> 
> if you're interested in the timeline, this was set somewhere between ch 7 and 8 (so: while Hawke is still living in Lowtown)  
> as for the previous chapters, meeting Anders happened quite a while before Fitz met Hawke & Fitz met Fenris a few months after that. Also, last chapter happened before this one in the timeline - which I think I need to make a proper timeline for this thing lol like a graphic or something
> 
> thanks for reading!


	5. Camping

“Hawke!  Look!”

Hawke turned his head, and I waved at him wildly until his eyes found me.  I grinned as he crossed his arms and walked over to stand underneath the tree I was in.

“Please don’t tell me you were chasing birds again,” he drawled, looking up at me with a smile that he couldn’t quite smother.  I kicked my legs, enjoying the feeling of being up so high, and gave him the finger.  He laughed, and then Varric appeared, coming to a stop right next to the taller man.

“You still want us to put up a tent for you, Scholar?” he called, laughing.  “Or, are you planning on staying up there?”

“Wait!” I called back, and then turned my focus on getting down from the tree. 

I hadn’t climbed a lot of trees in my life, being from the city and everything, but every summer I would spend a few weeks in Jersey with my grandma and she had tons of trees around her home.  I remember practically living outside for the entirety of those weeks, and I think I definitely made up for my city kid status by the amount of shit I got up to in the woods surrounding my grandma’s house.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been so deft at climbing down from that damn tree.  Would’ve also given Hawke and Varric a fucking heart attack.

I jumped off the lowest branch, landing just a bit too heavily on my feet but I was able to walk it off easily enough.  I bounded over to where Hawke and Varric stood, feeling happier than I’d been in a long while.

“Please put my tent up,” I begged, having no clue whatsoever on how to put one up.  Not those cloth and stick types, and especially not when they didn’t come with written directions.

Hawke and Varric both laughed at me. 

“Broody already put one up.  Don’t worry,” Varric told me, jabbing a finger over his shoulder.  I looked past the two of them and saw only one large tent standing between the trees.  I furrowed my brow, widening my eyes at the same time as I turned to look back at the two men next to me.

“But...that's _one_ tent,” I started, confused, but Varric cut me off with a loftily waved hand. 

"Big enough to fit the three of you," Varric assured me, before side-eyeing Hawke with humor in his eyes.  "Just make sure _he_ doesn't accidentally squash you in your sleep."  Hawke hit him, good-naturedly, but I ignored the joke in favor of bringing up my confusion once more.

"What about you?"

“Kid, if you think I’d voluntarily stay a night in the woods, you’ve got another thing coming,” Varric scoffed, shaking his head at the thought of it.  “Nah, I’m heading back to the city.  Back to my nice bed at the Hanged Man.”

“Good for you,” Hawke said, rolling his eyes.  “But we all know you’re really just scared that Fenris is planning to put lizards in your bedroll.”

I snorted, covering my mouth before I could laugh obnoxiously.  Something about the image of Fenris sneaking around and pulling pranks was fucking hilarious, and somehow the lizards just made it worse.  What a _dumb_ prank.

Said man finally made an appearance, coming out from some trees a few yards away from us with what looked like a pot.  He put it down near the fire, but cast a suspicious look my way since I had begun laughing as soon as I caught sight of him.

Hawke’s hand landed on top of my head, and he roughly began to wreck my hair beyond all belief.  I yelped and tried to get away, but he grabbed me in a headlock and continued to deliver what can only be called a noogie.

“Not to worry, Fenris,” Hawke called out to the elf, who had stopped what he was doing to wander over our way.  “I won’t let Fitz get away with making fun of you.”

“Wasn’t,” I gasped, leaning forward in an attempt to save myself.  I could feel my hair expand to maximum levels, and almost sighed with relieve when Hawke finally stopped.  Hanging in his arms, I peered up at Fenris, who was staring at me with one brow arched, and assured him, “Totally wasn’t makin’ fun…lizards.”

I delved into more snickering (though Hawke probably would’ve called them ‘giggles’), and Fenris just shook his head at me.

“I don’t want to know,” he said, dryly, before turning to address Varric.  “If you still plan to leave, it would be best to do so now.  It will be dark soon.”

Varric made a weird sound, caught between a snort and a grunt, and nodded his head.  “Well, don’t beg me to stay, Broody.  I’d hate to see you so disappointed.”

Fenris just blinked, face completely deadpan.  I was busy trying to escape from the arm Hawke still had around my shoulders; it still encased my neck, though it was more of a half-hug than it was a headlock.  Hawke ignored my attempt at elbowing him, and waved obliviously with his free hand.

“Always hate it when you go, Varric,” Hawke told him, with over exaggerated sadness.  “Drink a mug of swill in my name, would you?”

Varric inclined his head solemnly, knocking one fist against his heart in some weird salute-thing, and replied, “I’ll drink two.  Isabela will drink five.”

Hawke repeated Varric chest bumping thing, copying the dwarf’s somber air as well.

“What honorable friends I have,” he said, with pride.  I rolled my eyes; having given up trying to escape, I just stood there dully and waited for Hawke to finally tire of this game.

“I am afraid honorable would be a contested description,” Fenris put in, also watching the small exchange with an unimpressed face.  “Degenerate, however…”

I snorted, and said, “Oh, burn.”  I exaggerated both words as if Fenris had just laid down some sick clapback, and it was my duty to applaud his ingenuity.  I waved at the elf when he turned an unimpressed eye on me, though my movements were still rather restricted due to Hawke’s beefy arm weighing me down.

Varric left not long after, and Hawke finally let up.  We ate dinner, which was some kind of meat that I didn’t even want to identify, and just generally sat around the fire like we hadn’t a care in the world.  For me, I felt more at ease than I can ever remember.

Nostalgia was hitting me, hard, and the longing did too, but I wasn’t really all that sad.  Maybe there comes a point where such a thing as ‘too much sadness’ comes into existence, and makes any further sadness void.  I don’t know, that’s really unrealistic, but it’s a nice thought.  I could get used to being this content though.  I really could.

“And what are you thinking about?” Hawke asked, sending me a soft smile from across the camp fire.  Fenris was looking at me too, but his usually intense stare was gentler somehow.  I guess it was the overall easiness in the air that made me feel like talking, or maybe it was just the fond memories filling my head that I couldn’t help but want to share.

“When I was a kid, I used to spend the sum – um, the hotter months with my grandma,” I said, not stopping the smile from spreading across my face.  I leaned forward with my arms laid across my knees, and basked in the heat of the fire; the smell of burning wood bringing me back to a long time ago, in my grandma’s cabin in southern Jersey.  “Used to camp out in the woods behind her house, with the rest of the neighborhood kids.  We'd have bonfires all the time.  I'd climb trees and grandma would yell at me for it."  I laughed softly, covering my mouth slightly as I recalled how she would scream my full name at me and the 'oh shit' feeling it always inspired.

"She would always try to teach me survival shit, too," I continued, voice a bit wistful.  "Wish I listened."

“I thought you said you were from a city,” Fenris said, and I don’t think he meant it in a bad way, like to put me on my guard or anything, but I tensed up regardless.

“Yeah, well, I am,” I replied quickly, stumbling over my words somewhat.  “My grandma was from – she didn’t live in the city.  Outside of it.”

I ground my boot into the dirt in front of me, making small lines just for something to do; to relieve the twitchy feeling I always got when I felt I had talked too much.  I was focused on the lines, but Hawke’s voice brought me back out of it.

“Sounds like a grand time,” he said easily, and I looked up again.  “However, I hope you listen to me when I teach you all this ‘survival shit’.  Next time, you’re putting up the tent.”

Hawke went on a tirade just then; he started telling me about things his father taught him and his siblings while they were roaming around Ferelden.  They lived in the woods more often than not, and as such knew practically all there was to know about surviving in the wilderness.  Or, you know, at least the Ferelden wilderness.

He was funny as he told us those stories, and I’m pretty sure he embellished a fair few of them (if not all of them.  I didn't think it was really likely that his brother _actually_ got chased around by a fennec just because he ate the wrong berries and pissed on a tree near the fox's den).  Silly stories aside, I got his point.  Hawke had an uncanny sense for other’s discomfort, and he was usually pretty quick to come to their rescue, so long as he wasn’t the one intending their embarrassment (which I have also been on the receiving end of).   I was grateful for his intervention, as I always was.

That night when I went to bed, reluctantly tucked in between Fenris and Hawke (I never stood a chance - they both claimed their spots up against the tent's flaps with unfair quickness), I found myself wishing that I could close my eyes and see back to those times, when I was really young.  I just thought it would be really nice to remember what my grandma looked like _exactly_ and maybe the layout of that cabin that I once knew every inch of.  From the hole in the kitchen wall from when I accidentally kicked a soccer ball harder than I’d originally planned on and to the bushes that surrounded the house, the ones that always had the best raspberries in the summer.  I couldn’t really remember what it all looked like.  You know, like the details of it.  I guess I should just be happy to have a hazy image of those memories, because it seemed like that was the best I was going to get.

~

“Hawke, don’t you fuckin’–”

I didn’t get the chance to finish speaking, didn’t even get to begin the threat I was about to deliver, before Hawke had pushed me fully into the little brook we were lounging next to. 

I say lounging, but we weren’t.  Not exactly.  I was crouched down, attempting to wash some dirt from my coat.  It was so much easier to wash outside, rather than in a small tub inside Merrill’s house.  So, I was leaning over and focusing on that damn dirt stain when I felt someone standing behind me.

I didn't immediately suspect anything.  I wasn't even suspicious when Hawke, ever so casually, asked me if I could swim.  Of course, being that I was side-tracked, I answered with a definite “Uh…yeah,” without even pausing. 

My carelessness resulted in me flailing in the middle of a cold brook, sputtering, and failing to even form the curse words that Hawke sorely deserved.  I didn’t stay quiet for long though.

“You – you _fucking fuck_ ,” I spat, as I stood up, my now sopping-wet clothing clinging to me uncomfortably.  It was a warm day, too warm for me to have brought my coat even, though I did so regardless.  The water was deeper than I’d expected, but I still had little difficulty in making my way back to land.  To where Hawke stood, laughing. 

I came to a stop right next to him, and aimed a punch at his stomach (which somehow missed), and glared.  Hawke just laughed.

“Oh Maker,” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes (I doubt there were actually tears – he’s just a jerk).  “You fell right over…didn’t even try to catch yourself.”

I tried punching him again, on his dumb arm this time, but he swatted my attempt away as if I was nothing more than an annoying bug. 

“Fuck you, you pushed me.  Of course I fell the fuck over, you dick,” I retorted, changing gears and deciding to shake off the water still dripping from me onto the asshole in front of me.  My hair, which had also gotten a good brunt of the fall, sprayed water every which way, and I felt smug satisfaction when I saw Hawke’s eyes close briefly as water hit them.

I stomped away after that, heading over to where Fenris sat near the campfire we had going.  He had been within viewing distance of Hawke’s attack, and was smirking when I made it to him, but I just sent an ugly face his way and immediately set about looking through my pack, which I had left laying haphazardly next to our tent's entrance flaps right before my little dip into the water.  Hawke's bag was laying right next to mine, in an even worse state, believe it or not.  It wasn't even closed properly.

I knew I didn’t bring a change of clothes.  Hell, I knew I didn’t really have a change of clothes to begin with – all I had on this world were on me right this second, and they were all soaking wet.  My coat, being that it had been in my hands at the time of the attack, did not escape the onslaught.  I had it slung over my shoulder, like an unnecessarily damp towel, as I rifled through my bag. 

It was habit, I think.  Back home, going away always meant bringing spare clothes; especially on camping trips, though I did not go on many of those.  Still, it was common sense to at least bring a spare change of boxers and socks. 

Instead, all I found was the blanket I slept with the night before and a wrapped up bundle of food that I had forgotten about (attached to it was a small note from Merrill reminding me to eat).  

Hawke wandered over after I had given up on my bag, and was trying to hang my jacket up on the lowest tree branch I could find.  The tree I had chosen was brilliantly lit by the sun, ensuring best drying conditions for my coat, but the branch I was attempting to reach was too tall for me.  Still, I didn’t appreciate it when Hawke plucked my jacket from my outstretched arms and hung it over the branch for me.

“Oh, come on.  Don’t sulk,” he said, in a rather whiny voice when all I did was send him a nasty look and walk away, back over to the tent.  “Are you just going to stay like that – oh, alright.  Or you can strip in the middle of camp.”

I scowled at him, but didn’t stop myself from removing my clingy tunic.  I wasn’t so shameless that I would remove my pants as well, so I resolved to dealing with it.  Then, I started to wring my tunic out. 

Right over Hawke’s pack.

"Oh - come on!"

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> purely self-indulgent! why are they going camping? for fun! is that true? maybe!! did i just want to push fitz into a river and have him half-strip in front of hawke? maybe!!!!!
> 
> also, since you're reading these extra bits, if you want to request a prompt or something, please ask away! feel free to hmu in the comments, or even on my [tumblr](http://runningforprussia.tumblr.com)


	6. And Then Aveline Told Fitz To Say No To Drugs

I set my jaw, making sure that my lower lip jut out just enough to be visible as I stared up at the tall lady in front of me.

"Fitz," she sighed, looking torn between glowering at me and shaking her head in resignation.  "Did you, or did you not, come upon some misappropriated goods recently?"

"Define goods," I requested, squinting at her with curiosity.

Aveline's lips thinned, and she half-turned her head towards where Varric and Hawke were resolutely looking away from the two of us.  She was speaking partly to them when she answered me.

"Food, in particular.  Food that once belonged to a _merchant_.”

I shook my head, pressing my lips into an apologetic smile.  “Nope, sorry.  Not a clue what you’re sayin’.”

Aveline looked back to me, frowning pretty heavily, and I froze a little, wondering if she was about to start yelling right in the middle of the tavern. 

“Fitz, why don’t we go for a walk?”

She didn’t wait for my reply; Aveline just strode away, heading for the main door of the Hanged Man without even looking back at me.  I glanced at Hawke and Varric with a meaningful look, but all they did was snicker at me, and then Hawke was _shooing_ me away with one lofty hand.  I glared at them with outrage, about to curse them off, just as Aveline called for me to follow.

I caught up with her, though it was with extreme reluctance.

“I actually don’t have time,” I tried to explain, using my shoulder to open the door and holding it open for Aveline to pass through.  “You know, there’s this place I gotta –”

“You can spare a few minutes, I think,” she replied dryly, casting an unimpressed look at me as she pressed through the crowds of Lowtown, apparently having a specific destination in mind for this walk.  “Don’t look so worried.  You look as though you’re preparing to get yelled at.”

“You mean, I’m not?”  I asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“In the middle of the streets?  Maker, no,” she said, shaking her head before adopting a rather regretful look.  “I tried that with Hawke once.  An audience is never good for that sort of thing, at least not when he’s involved.  I have a feeling you’re the same way.”

“Huh, and here I am, wanting to leave even more,” I commented, looking around us with a casual air that only made Aveline walk closer to me.

“I told you I’m not going to yell,” she said firmly, and I could just imagine her narrowed eyes.  I stared at the vendors we passed instead, half-hoping one of them would call out to me with a job proposal or something.  Anything.  “I want to tell you a little about Hawke.”

I looked up at Aveline, raising my brows up high.  “Seriously?  What for?”

Aveline wasn’t looking at me now, her gaze was flicking across the sea of people, observing, as she spoke.

“He was in the same spot you find yourself in now,” she told me, and I thought I heard something heavier in her voice than the firm tone she always spoke with.  “He and his sister worked for the same group you do.  It has barely been a year since they were released from that servitude.  I’m sure you know how tough it can be to get out of such arrangements.”

I turned my head away, scowling as she sent a knowing look my way.  “So, it’s about that, then?  Well, lucky for me, I have Hawke ruining _such_ _arrangements_ for me.”

“He’s helping you,” Aveline told me, and she didn’t give me a chance to refute her words before going on.  “Those people you run with will see you _bound_ to them, forever, if you give them the chance.”

“You’re just a boy.  Do you think they care if you live or die in that line of work?” she asked, lowering her head a bit and dropping her voice so that we couldn’t be easily overheard. 

“Nobody cares about that,” I spat, not quite meaning to say those words out loud.  I turned my head back towards Aveline though, eyes glancing up to hers as I scowled to her face.  “I’m an _elf_ , living in _poverty_ , so fuckin’ tell me, you think I give a shit about Athenril screwing me over?  You think I never been screwed over before?”

I stopped walking, Aveline copying my sudden move immediately, and we stood there, on the outskirts of Lowtown, pressed together next to some grimy brick wall like a pair of gossiping nannies.

“You have people at your side now, Fitz.”  Aveline made an aborted move, as if she were about to place a hand on my shoulder, but then thought better of it.  “And, we care if – we care about your well-being.  You don’t want to grow up to become a criminal, wasting yourself in the underside of Kirkwall’s –”

“You know, me and Hawke were doin’ just fine, forgetting about this shit,” I hissed, unable to believe that I was being spoken to like a goddamn first grader in a D.A.R.E program.  I wanted to curse, but I was trying not to do that so quickly, not so soon after the last fit I had.  “Aveline, I appreciate your…concern, but I’m _good_.  I don’t need the lecture.”

Aveline was breathing through her nose, and I don’t know what she expected.  Did she think she could just say a few sentences at me, turn my entire life around on a lecture alone? 

“Hawke joined Athrenril’s crew to secure a place to live for himself and his family,” she said in a low voice, trying to get me to stare her in the eyes.  “What’s your reason?”

“That’s kind of mean,” I drawled, glaring a little bit harder at the alleyway on the other side of the street.  “You know I don’t have a family.”

“I didn’t –” Aveline cursed lightly, rubbing at her temples briefly.  “I just meant, why are you doing this?  As you just said, you don’t have a family to feed and house.  And none of us can figure out why you wish to align yourself with Athenril, when you already have a roof over your head and friends at your back.”

“Why’s there gotta be a reason?” I asked, feeling very tired all of a sudden.  I suppose it was better than feeling angry.  “I’m not tryin’ to become the next goddamn kingpin.”

“A – what?”

I schooled my face into an expression of boredom.  “Haven’t you guys ever heard of saving your money?  Like, wanting to buy nice things every once in a while?  Maybe not living in complete and utter squalor?”

“Yes,” Aveline gritted out, looking very much frustrated with me.  “But, you take it too far.”

“I, like, never do that, though?” I said, adopting a confused edge to my voice.  “What are you even talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I’m trying to tell you,” she said, enunciating her words very clearly, tone as curt as possible, “that I don’t want to see you arrested.”

“So, don’t arrest me,” I said back, grinning before I could help myself.  When her eyes flared, I backpedaled quickly.  “Oh my god, joking.  _Joking_.  Don’t worry!  I’m not even a delinquent of note!  I just give people messages…and stuff.”

Her expression changed somehow as I appealed to her, softening in a way I didn’t think she was capable of.

“And stealing food from the vendors in Hightown?”

I widened my eyes, gaping a little at her.  “I told you I didn’t do that.  You don’t believe me?”

My injured tone only made her laugh.

“Fitz, I saw you handing out bread rolls to you little friends,” she told me, totally catching me in my (albeit half-hearted) lie and she didn’t even sound angry about it.  Aveline wore a small smile as she looked down at me, pushing herself off from the wall we’d been leaning against and taking a few steps back.  “Come.  I’ll walk you back to the tavern.”

I shrugged, straightening up easily. 

As we walked back, slowly and without the tension from before, I couldn’t help but glance towards the city guard beside me.  She was nice, which surprised me.  Usually she was just all blunt words and stern lecturing, but then again, I didn’t exactly hang around her on a daily basis, now did I?  Out of everyone, I saw Aveline the least, mostly because she had an actual job that demanded nearly all of her time.

I also knew she wasn’t such a stickler for the rules as she was trying to lead me to believe.  I knew about the guard rotation around Fenris’ mansion, and Hawke had already told me a few stories that included _her_ doing shit that was definitely not strictly legal.

It was nice of her, trying to look out for me and everything, and I was trying to make myself believe that, even though it just felt like she was trying to tell me what to do.

Besides, Hawke already stole my most illegal ventures from me when he made Athrenil write me off of the nighttime jobs.  I wasn’t really doing much that would get me in trouble anymore.  At least, not in _serious_ trouble.  The Hightown merchants can afford to lose a few products.

~

“Hawke!”

Turning at the sound of his name, Hawke was greeted with the sight of a thin elf racing across the packed streets with seemingly little trouble.  Hawke watched as the elf bumped into an older man, and then he cringed as he heard Fitz’ clearly say, in that odd accent of his, “Watch where you’re goin’, man!”. 

Fitz didn’t wait for a reply, he had already moved on, and pretty soon he was screeching to a halt right in front of Hawke, teetering enough that Hawke felt it necessary to reach out and steady the kid.  Fitz didn’t so much as flinch at the touch; he just stared up at Hawke with a wide grin eating up half his face.

“Dude, you won’t believe it,” Fitz was already speaking, barely out of breath from his rush to reach Hawke.  “So, there’s this guy, right? And he fuckin’–”

“What guy?” Hawke interrupted, moving his hand up from Fitz shoulder to the kid’s hair in the guise of fixing the windblown mess, though all he did was intentionally make it worse.  Fitz was too worked up to notice.

“That, uh, that guy – you know, the one who sells, like, fish or somethin’ every Tuesday.  Always smells like shit,” he replied, scrunching his nose as he recalled the foul stench that always followed that particular vendor, whom Hawke did in fact know.  “It don’t matter, yo – I was just sayin’ ‘cuz he fuckin’ fell down – _right_ over the fruit lady’s stand – and fuckin’ apples are goin’ everywhere,” Fitz paused to take a deep breath and then finished with, “and I got, like, _six_ whole apples!  They’re at Merrill’s, but I can bring yours over later.  I just ate mine and, fuck, it was _good_!”

“You didn’t pay for them, I take it?” Hawke said, raising an eyebrow.  Fitz gave him an incredulous look, finally reaching up an arm to knock Hawke’s hand away from his hair, which Hawke had almost gotten to look like it was standing up straight on one side.

“’Course not.  They rolled, like, half way ‘cross the bazaar.  I fished ‘em out from under Elegance’s stall, woulda had a seventh apple if some old fuck hadn’t knocked my legs out.  Greedy bastard,” Fitz ended with a curse, scowl looking goofy since it didn’t really fit his otherwise cheerful appearance.  Hawke bit back a laugh.

“Ah, then fair is fair,” he replied instead, smiling at Fitz with a nod of his head.  “But, you may keep your hard-earned fruit.  You deserve it, fighting old people and what-not.”

Fitz’ grin dropped a hair, and his eyebrows furrowed down curiously, and he basically looked like Hawke had just said something outrageously stupid.

“But, I got enough for all of us,” he said, sounding confused.  “I just gave one to Fenris, so you gotta take yours too.”

Hawke’s eyebrows shot up.  “You just gave an apple…to Fenris?”

“Yeah, felt weird knockin’ on the door and shit, but he gets pissy when I just walk in, so…”

Hawke laughed.  “I would have liked to see his face.  Did he take it?”

Fitz joined in on the laughter, nodding.  “Oh, he had to, like, stare at me for a good minute and then he asked me what I wanted, like I was tryin’ to make a deal with him.  And then I had to be like, ‘nah, man, just take the fuckin’ fruit’.”  Fitz laughed some more, probably recalling the other elf’s expression.

“But he did take it?” Hawke asked, for clarification. 

“Of course!” Fitz said, the ‘duh’ going unsaid but clearly heard anyway. 

Fitz finally decided to look around, seeming to only just notice that they were standing in front of the Keep’s front steps, with various nobles snubbing their noses at them as they passed by the odd pair.  Fitz made another face, possibly directed at one offending noble in particular, before asking why Hawke was here.

“Oh, you know.  I enjoy the aroma of disgruntled nobles in the morning, and this is the best spot to soak it all up,” Hawke answered, throwing his head back dramatically and earning himself an unimpressed look from Fitz.

“You gotta meet Aveline or somethin’?” he asked, somewhat blandly.

Hawke reached out to flick the boy on his shoulder, before replying, “Why, yes.  I do enjoy that as well.  I believe she wishes to call on my good nature, so that I might solve whatever new problem needs fixing this time.”

Fitz shrugged, already looking bored.  “Have fun with that.  Bet you gonna end up spyin’ on drifters again, and then you or Isabela will ruin it by challenging them to a drinking contest.”

Hawke tried to flick him again, but Fitz caught on quickly and dodged it.  “That was one time, and I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that.  See if I ever tell you about my day again.”

“Please,” Fitz scoffed, “like I ever ask.  Just, be careful you don’t accidentally make out with one of them this time – Anders said it was gross, and you started crying right after.”

“You little–” Hawke’s face grew red, and even his ears changed color as well, and he would have wrapped an arm around Fitz’ neck, if the little bastard hadn’t skipped away like some kind of jack rabbit.  “I _never_ –”

“Hey,” Fitz said, holding his hands up high and backing away, “Anders said it, not me.  Anyways, be careful and maybe I’ll see you later?  But, if I see tongue I’m out and you’ll have to get your apple tomorrow instead.”

Hawke would have liked to call out a threat of some kind at Fitz’ retreating back, but just then Aveline was coming up behind him, simultaneously demanding his attention as well.

“Hawke, I was wondering where you were,” she said in lieu of greeting.  “I was looking for you.  Was that Fitz just now?”

“Ah, yes.  I’m surprised you don’t have an apple,” Hawke said, enjoying the confusion flooding her expression at the non sequitur.

“An apple?  Right, what’s this about then?” she demanded, leveling him with a deadpan look, daring him to draw the joke out longer.

“Oh, nothing.  Fitz has recently won big in the apple market, and I believe he’s making pit stops to all his favorite people in order to share in the wealth,” Hawke replied with earnest, only for Aveline to snort at his words.  She gestured for him to follow her, away from the Keep, saying that it would be better to speak outside its walls, before going back to the topic of Fitz and his apples.

“Well, he wouldn’t have visited me.  I’m hardly his favorite person,” she said dryly, as the crowded streets of Hightown parted at the sight of them. 

Hawke tsked, throwing his friend a weird look, and said, “Oh, come now.  He likes you just fine.  And he even gave one to Fenris, so I’m betting you’ll find yourself one apple richer by the end of this day as well.”

That earned him a surprised laugh.

“What an odd child,” she commented, tossing her head back and forth as she thought about the peculiarities sounding their young friend.  “In any case, I suspect he would rather dedicate himself to a life of sainthood than to step foot in the Keep.”

“Why do you say that?” Hawke asked, with a surprised tilt of his head.  Aveline shot him a look as if to say ‘really?’ as they continued to walk through Hightown, taking the streets that would lead them quickest to the Gallows.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed his penchant for law breaking?” she scoffed.  “And his disrespect for authority?  I’ve had a fair few complaints about an elven miscreant matching Fitz’ description – enough to know that he had best be on his guard.”  Aveline shot Hawke a significant look.

“Varric’s got him covered,” he replied, immediately.  “Oh, well, you needn’t worry about all that.  Join us at the Hanged Man tonight and I’ll bet there’s an apple in it for you.”  Hawke wiggled his eyebrows at her, and Aveline cracked another smile at the rather underwhelming incentive to accept the offer.

But she did agree.  And then it was right back to business, as Aveline began a lengthy explanation to why she called for Hawke’s help this morning. 

Luckily, no drifters were involved this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised an Aveline chapter~~ ;)


	7. Fitz is Still Kind of Mean But Not to Merrill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set between ch 7 and 8 in Needs More Salt and after ch 4 in The Extras

“Jesus Christ,” I groaned, unable to take it any longer.  Hawke tried to elbow me, but I was already whirling around on the stool I was sitting on in order to face the annoying fuck at the table behind us.  “Yo, man, you ever heard of shutting the fuck up?”

“What’d you say to me, runt?” he growled, also shifting to face me.  He didn’t stand, but the way he held himself on his chair made it clear that he was still trying to make me feel small.

Which I was, compared to him.  I was skinny and he was a fucking behemoth.

“I _said_ –”

“Alright, that’s enough.  Let’s turn around now, Fitz,” Hawke interjected, tugging harshly on the hood of my coat before wrapping an arm around my shoulders so that he could forcibly move me when the tug did nothing.  “Leave this abnormally sized man to his ill-mannered jokes.  They’re not aimed at you.”

Hawke succeeded in turning me around, only because he was stronger than me, even though I tried to shake him off. 

Right across from me sat Merrill and she leaned in suddenly, making it so that the image of her face filled my vision; momentarily distracting me.

“Fitz, look,” she started gushing, excitedly.  She shoved something forward, and I noticed that it was a cool looking bracelet-thing.  She was pushing it towards me.  “I found this in…well, it was in a dead man’s pocket, but isn’t it pretty?  I thought you might like it!”

“Wha–”

“I thought so.  Knife-ears only as big as their mouths.  Ain’t worth nothing.”  I heard him spit, and it probably landed somewhere in my general vicinity, which was gross, and then he laughed, like he’d just got me good.  Merrill was desperately trying to press the bracelet even closer to my face, but it was too late.

“Yeah?  And your mother wants a refund ‘cuz your dumb ass ain’t worth _shit_.  Poor woman, her son’s a fuckin’ idiot supreme,” I called back, only turning my head around this time, because Hawke still had a death grip on my shoulders.

There was a loud clatter behind us as the man stood up, with the urgency that comes with defending one’s mother, and he would have started to storm over to us if both Hawke and Fenris hadn’t stood in one synced swoop.  Their intervention had the guy nearly falling back, because there was no denying how _dangerous_ both of them looked.

I leaned back on my stool, lazily looking up at the guy and ignoring Merrill’s weak attempts at gaining my attention back.

“Whatchu gonna do now, fuckface?”

His face flushed a deep red, and I nearly started snickering as purple edged in as well, but then Hawke was pushing me; one hand in my face, simply shoving me back so that I wasn’t leaning past him anymore.

“Fitz, I know it’s hard,” he sighed, sounding annoyed.  “But, please control your irrational urges to antagonize large, angry people.”

I swiped at his hand, but he was already pulling it away and crossing his arms, staring down at the enraged guy who was still just standing there. 

“Not irrational if they’re warranted,” I shot back.  Hawke scowled back at me, only briefly, and I grinned in return.

“You better tell your knife-ear to watch it,” the man was saying, probably had enough of being ignored.  He was addressing Hawke specifically, not even looking Fenris’ way (which I thought was a pretty big determining factor in this guy’s idiocy), and he even went as far as to point a finger at Hawke, letting the offending appendage make contact with Hawke’s chest and everything.  I basically watched Hawke go cold, it was awesome.

Hawke grabbed the guy’s wrist, and said, “I think you had better watch _yourself_ , friend.  I don’t want to fight, so why don’t you find another table to afflict with your presence?”

The man’s face went an even darker red, if that’s believable, and I think that’s when he finally started thinking about swinging.  It would’ve been fun to see Hawke kick that guy’s ass, but then the barman was descending upon us all with threats, and the next minute saw Hawke and Fenris returning to their seats on either side of me and that other guy was walking away.

“Scholar, you’re asking to get your ass kicked,” Varric said after a moment.  “Begging for it, even.”

I looked back at him, grinning, and opened my mouth to make some smart-ass comment, but Hawke decided to strangle me.

Not in a violent way.  I mean in the headlock way.

“Next time you want to pick a fight,” he was growling over my protests, “could you perhaps choose someone who doesn’t look like they can break you with one finger?”

“Depends on how annoying they are,” I gasped, trying to pry his hands off.

“Hawke!” Merrill chided from across the table.  Her disappointed voice made Hawke let go, but when I went to smile at her, she was frowning.  I winced, because Merrill’s disappointment was always a brutal thing.

“Fitz, you shouldn’t be fighting anyone,” she said with a small pout, twirling the bracelet from earlier around a little bit.  “And I really did get this for you, but I suppose you don’t like it.”

I almost groaned.  “No…I – I’m sorry.  I totally like it.”  Merrill kept the frown, and I flushed as I heard the others smothering laughter.  “Can I please have it?”

Merrill finally smiled.  “Of course you may!  Here, give me your wrist.”

I relinquished the limb, and she snapped the bracelet on.  It was a piece of braided leather, and the dangling strings tying it to my wrist fell down long enough so that I could play with them with my fingers.  I had a similar one a long time ago, before all this, though I think it was just made of a thick type of thread rather than leather.

“Did you wash the dead guy off it?” I asked, poking at the bracelet with my other hand and squinting at it just in case.

“Fitz!” she gasped, appalled.  “I would never give you a dirty present.  So, yes, of course it’s very clean.”

Isabela let out a surprised laugh.  “Kitten, I think you should definitely give him dirty presents.  His face would be absolutely to die for!”

Merrill swatted Bela’s arm, and said, “Oh!  You know I didn’t mean that kind of dirty.”  She turned back to face me, composing her face into one of deep thought.  “Though, if that’s the sort of gift you truly like, Fitz, I suppose–”

“Merrill!” Hawke exclaimed, a bit roughly.  I frowned at them all.

“No.  I don’t want to die of fuckin’ tetanus so please don’t give me dirty things.”

“Maker’s – !” Hawke dropped his head into his hands, shaking his head back and forth as well.  “Fitz, please stop.”

“You don’t want to die of what now, Scholar?” Varric asked, his voice sounding like laughter even though he kept a pretty straight face.

“Blood diseases,” I said, a bit reluctantly.  I felt like I missed something.  “And germs.  Dead people germs.”

“If Isabela were giving dirty gifts, you are right to fear death,” Fenris put in, surprising me.  Merrill and Isabela booed at him, and he just smirked back.

“You’re all fuckin’ weird,” I said, decisively, as I reached out for Hawke’s mug.  He had been neglecting it for a while now, even before I called that guy out, but as soon as my fingers brushed against the mug’s side, Hawke was picking it up and chugging it in one go.  I scowled at him, pulling my hand back to fold across my chest.

“Troublemakers don’t get alcohol,” he told me, after making a show of wiping a hand across his mouth. 

I scoffed.  “You’re like the epitome of troublemaking, you hypocrite.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, looking faintly impressed.  Or surprised.  “That’s a big word, Fitzy.  Where’d you learn that one?”

“Epitome has seven letters.  That’s not considered long whatsoever, hypocrite,” I replied, intentionally misinterpreting his meaning.

“On the topic of words, what was it you called that man earlier?” Varric asked, leaning in more to catch my eye.  “Did you call him ‘fuckface’ or was I hearing things?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Your insults aren’t very inspired, sweetness,” Isabela commented from where she was leaning against Merrill, her head resting on top of the elf’s in a way that I thought looked kind of uncomfortable.  “Perhaps I can teach you something more…creative.”

“He gets his point across well enough without getting creative, thank you Isabela,” Hawke said, giving the pirate a rather dry look.  “How about we don’t teach him new ways to get in trouble.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“I don’t need that flowery shit,” I announced, scowling at the two of them.  “Calling a guy a ‘piece of shit motherfucker’ works just as well as ‘thou ist an elderberry-scented pig’.”

Isabela let out an exclaim, clapping her hands together.  “Isn’t he precious?  His mouth really does not suit his face, don’t you agree?”

“She has a point, Fitz,” Merrill piped in, holding a hand up to cover her smile.  “You have such foul language for someone so cute.”

I flushed, not because she called me cute, but for another reason completely, and then the others were all agreeing with her.  And by agreeing, I mean making fun of me.

“I don’t gotta take this,” I declared, standing up abruptly.  “I’m out.”

“Oh, where are you going now?” Hawke asked, holding onto my coat and making me try to tug it out of his grasp.

“Gonna go visit Anders.  At least he’s not drunk like you guys.”  I got my coat free, and started for the door.  Hawke jumped up to join me.

“I’ll walk with you!” he said with a broad grin.  “I’ve been meaning to see Anders as well.  He’s been holed up in that clinic for weeks now.”

“I don’t need you walking me,” I retorted, seeing through all his talk.  “I know how to get away from muggers.”

“That’s great news, Fitz,” Hawke said dismissively, as we both made our way to the exit.  He called out a goodbye to our table, and a chorus of farewells followed us out of the tavern.  “But, really, I need to speak with my friend.  Who just so happens to be the very person you’re going to see.  Perfect timing.  Amazing, isn’t it?”

“You’re full of shit.”

Hawke laughed, and swiped at my head, which I successfully ducked.

“Maybe Anders has a cure for that foul mouth of yours,” he teased, as I deliberately walked a few steps ahead of him.  “It’s gonna get you in big trouble someday.”

“It already has,” I replied, flatly, as my foot sent a pebble flying at the wall of the building across the street.  “and I know how to get _out_ of trouble because of it as well.”

“You know…that’s not very reassuring, Fitz.”

“Tough shit.”

Hawke sighed, but he didn’t sound too put out, and simply told me to quit kicking rocks at the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @happysnowdragon, Fitz wearing bracelets is now canon -u-


	8. Pebbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set sometime after ch 4 (In Which Fitz is Kinda Mean) in The Extras and between chapters 7 & 8 in Needs More Salt

“Now what are you doing?”

“Nothin’,” I muttered, not looking up.  “Go ‘way.”

He didn’t go away, but it was easy to ignore him anyway.  My pockets were nearly all full-up with pebbles and I really only wanted a couple more, just in case, before I was ready to leave.

“Bit small for your rock collection, aren’t they?” Hawke mused, inching closer to me.  I shot him a dirty look.

“Fuck off, I don’t have a rock collection.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head at my full pockets and then my left hand, which was holding a pretty nice assortment of small pebbles. 

“That right there kills any kind of argument on your part,” he said, dryly, as I stood up. “Now, what sort of delinquency are you getting up to with handfuls of rocks?”

“They’re _pebbles_ ,” I stressed, shaking my fist at him, and then cursing when a few pebbles fell out.  I dipped back down to hastily pick them up, rolling my eyes at Hawke as I did so.  “Not gonna throw rocks at people, that’s some next level shit right there.  Too harsh.  I ain’t askin’ for a fuckin’ lawsuit.”

“Oh.  There it is.  Who are you throwing rocks–” Hawke cut himself off when I opened my mouth to interrupt.  “Oh Maker, I mean _pebbles_ – who are you throwing pebbles at?”

“None ya business,” I replied, ducking around him with a cheery grin.  “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Don’t _you_?”

Hawke followed me out of Lowtown, up the steps that lay at the edge of the bazaar, and I pursed my lips.  I should have known.

“For your information, this is a job.  ‘Sides, if _someone_ hadn’t gotten me terminated–”

“For the last time, she didn’t fire you–”

I ignored Hawke in favor of speaking over him.

“I would be doing proper work right now.  However, since that is so _not_ the case, here I am,” I sighed, giving the man next to me an annoyed look.  I wasn’t angry anymore, just a bit irritated. 

“What kind of job has you throwing pebbles at people?” Hawke asked, dubiously.

“The kind that doesn’t pay well,” I muttered, patting my pockets to make sure none of my wares fell out.  “And, like I said, it’s none of your business.  Go kill some rats for the nobles, or whatever it is you do.  Since you don’t tell me.”

“I can assure you, I don’t do that,” Hawke said, before pausing.  “Alright, there might have been one time…but that was purely circumstantial.”

“Great,” I drawled, trying to walk faster in order to put some space between us.  Hawke didn’t take the hint and kept pace with me no matter how fast I walked.  “Then go annoy someone else.  I’m sure Anders would love some company – all the way over in Darktown.”

“Trying to get rid of me, are we?” Hawke commented, playfully.  He moved in front of me, spinning around so that he was walking backwards; he looked down at me, making sure I could see the smirk on his face.  “I bet you aren’t on a job at all.”

“I am,” I shot back, somewhat defensively.  I was working with someone, and maybe it wasn’t exactly paid work, but that’s all just semantics.  “And it’s a _secret_ job.  Which means you gotta go _away_.”

“No need to get so aggressive,” he said, laughing.  “Fine.  I’ll leave you to it, you little delinquent.  Happy?”  He took a step to the side, ushering me to go past him with his arms and even bowing a little bit. 

“You’re so weird,” I said, scowling to hide a grin.  I was all prepared to leave after that, but Hawke called out again.

“Just be sure you don’t hit any Templars,” he cautioned, jokingly.  I jumped, looking back at him in surprise, which only made him narrow his eyes at me.  “Wait…that’s not–”

“Bye!” I yelled, breaking out into a run.

~

By the end of the day, I was dirty and bruised.  And tired.

I spent most of my afternoon running around (and away from certain people), so I was feeling quite ready to pass out when I slumped into Merrill’s house that evening. 

I wasn’t all that happy to find her entertaining guests, but I also wasn’t very surprised.

“Yo,” I greeted, as the table of friends turned their heads my way.  I shut the door with a backwards kick of my foot, and shuffled further into the house, taking my coat off as I went.  “There water?”

“Hello, Fitz!” Merrill called out, popping out from around the corner that led to her room.  She squeezed herself in between Varric and Isabela as she answered my question.  “Yes, I just filled the tub.  Hawke said you’d be…Creators, did you get attacked by a dirt cloud?”

I groaned, my speculations confirmed; I was definitely as filthy as I felt.  Hiding under stalls and on the floors of alleyways meant for more dirt than I previously thought.  And then there was that I was tripped up a few times, meaning I landed on the ground face first more than once.  I had some scrapes, but nothing bad; though there was a cut on my chin that stung a bit.

“Multiple dirt clouds,” I said, throwing my coat on my cot before peeling off my tunic, the fabric stinking of sweat. 

“Ahem.”

I turned slightly at the noise, and realized it was Aveline trying to get my attention.  When I turned around completely to face her, she was eyeing me sternly, looking me up and down with an unimpressed gaze.  I raised my brows, balling up my tunic and bending slightly to toss it under my bed.  “What?”

Aveline stared right back at me.  “You know, I should be arresting you right now.”

My mouth dropped open as I assumed an astonished appearance.  “Wha – arrest _me_?  I’m pretty sure bein’ dirty isn’t a crime.”

Aveline deadpanned, her face becoming oddly expressive.  “Don’t play games with me.  I saw you in the Gallows today.”

“Oh,” I intoned, drawing the word out with a knowing look.  “Then, you saw the dust clouds, too?  Fuckin’ got in my eyes–”

“Fitz,” she sighed, rubbing at her temple while the others snickered behind her.  She shot Hawke a nasty look, but he just shrugged, leaning forward on the table, his left hand covering his mouth (and likely a grin).  Aveline turned back around quickly to glare at me.

“You and you friends went too far today.  The Knight-Captain kept me for nearly a half-hour, complaining about that little stunt of yours.”

“Huh, I don’t know who that is,” I shrugged, uncaringly. 

“The man you bounced rocks off of for nigh on an hour this afternoon,” Aveline hissed, hands on her hips.  Hawke made a strangled noise, and lifted his hand.

“Actually, I’ve been informed that they were in fact not rocks, but _pebbles_ ,” he told her, sending a wink my way.

Aveline spun on him in no time flat for that comment.  “And, you!  You knew damn well what he was up to!”

“Relax, Guard Captain,” Varric interrupted, his eyes laughing while his voice was composed.  “Can’t you see it as a harmless children’s prank?  No one was hurt.  Isn’t that right, Scholar?”

I nodded vigorously though Aveline was intent on glaring at Varric now.  “Yeah, I was just testing my aim.”  I mimed throwing with a short flick of my hand, making a small pop sound with my mouth for emphasis. 

“And that’s why several elves were seen making off with a vendor’s valuables, hmm?  But, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

 I huffed, shaking my head with exaggerated disgust.  “Elves?  Stealing?  Oh man, what _has_ this world come to?”

I finally turned away, snagging my clean clothes from underneath my covers.  I was just about to walk past them all, to the little bathing area Merrill had in the back room, but Aveline stopped me with a raised hand.

“Fitz, thievery is not taken lightly here.  Nor is it alright to cause trouble for the Templars,” she lectured, looking at me with seriousness rather than anger.  “And we all know elves get the short end of the stick when it comes to punishment.  You would do well not to play with fire, not at your age.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Hawke groaned, leaning back against the wall behind him and looking up at the ceiling.  “You just had to mention his age?”

I scowled, at both of them.  “Ah, fuck off.”  I stepped around Aveline, determined not to get pissy over the age comment since Hawke had to mention it too.

“It was stupid fun, okay?  Not my fault that what’s-his-face lets himself get distracted by a few pebbles.  Same goes for your guys.  If they were smart, they’d’ve been lookin’ for thieves first thing – not for some kid throwin’ pebbles around.”

“You know, he has a point,” Isabela put in, taking a long sip from her cup.  She slammed it down, alerting us all that she had finished her drink.  “Perhaps you might look at this as a training exercise next time.”

“There will be no next time,” Aveline growled at the pirate as I finally left the room, but apparently she wasn't done with me.  Raising her voice to reach me from the other room, Aveline called out, “Do you understand me, Fitz?”

“Wah wah wah,” I muttered to myself, as I finally removed the last of my clothes.  The water in the tub next to me was rather cold, but whatever.  I could hear the others talking from the other room, and I assumed they’d picked up from wherever they left off, from before Aveline decided to have a go at me.

I submerged myself a couple times, and scrubbed at my hair viciously to get rid of any debris that might’ve been clinging to it.  After I was sure that I was clean, I enjoyed myself by just sitting there, almost falling asleep to the sound of idle chatter and the occasional laughter.

“Fitz,” Merrill called out.  “You’re going to get sick if you stay in there any longer.”

I jerked forward, eyes opening wide as I caught myself.  Some water sloshed over the side of the tub and I cursed as I hurriedly stood to dry myself off and clean it up.

When I reemerged to the living, Hawke immediately called me out.

“Were you falling asleep in there?”

I blinked, pausing in the doorway for a moment.  “Why are you all still here?”

“The game’s not over yet, kid,” Varric said, gesturing to the cards in his hand.  He glanced at me, and then actually looked me over.  “You look cold.”

“Tired,” I replied, rubbing my eyes.

“Did you eat?” Merrill asked, sounding like she was about to get up and find something for me to scarf down.  I waved her off, already making a beeline for my cot.

“I’ma sleep.  ‘Night.”  I flopped down, dragging my scattered covers up and over my head as I curled up on my bed. 

I didn’t fall asleep immediately, though I think the others thought I had.  I was all relaxed, just listening to their murmuring, and when they started talking about me, I didn’t even have the energy to perk up and properly eavesdrop.

~

“…he’s going to land himself in jail.”

“You _know_ I won’t let that happen.”

“He’s going to piss off the wrong people and–”

“Oh, hush.  You are grossly underestimating the boy if you think he’s going to get caught.  He knows his way out of a scuffle better than you both think.  I can tell.”

“Yeah?  How?”

“Because – he’s a street rat.  The first thing they learn is how to escape when things get rough.”

“He’s still a child.  Not that you would care, _pirate_ –”

“Listen, all of you.  Scholar’s a smart kid, and he likes to start shit.  That’s just normal, if you ask me. 

“Yes, Varric’s right.  Bela, too.  When he first came to the alienage, he always knew when to run from a fight.  And, I’ve never seen someone fit in so quickly here… I mean, I know I’m not a great comparison, but–”

“You fit in just fine, kitten.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.  But, really, I think it makes him happy.”

“…Happy?  Getting into trouble?”

“Happy to have friends!  I can tell, because I didn’t have friends for longest time, and neither did Fitz.  Besides, it’s rather hypocritical, don’t you think?  To tell him not to get into trouble, when we are always up to much worse.”

“Why, yes, but…”

“Fitz is young, but he is not so young that he needs constant watching.  He can make his own choices.”

“Nicely put, kitten.  I couldn’t agree more.”

“Yes, well, if you all talk any more, we’ll wake him up.  And I, for one, don’t want him accusing me of talking behind his back.”

“Of course, Hawke.  Because you’ve never done _that_ before.”

 “Shut it.  Don’t you have a bar to pass out in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he likes the clingy noise pebbles make when pounced off a templars chestplate
> 
> like cl-cling (the hilarious way they look when frantically lookin around for the culprit is also pretty great)
> 
> [upcoming: meeting isabela - soon, hopefully]


	9. Fun With Bela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a couple of scenes with Bela; teasing fitz, setting hawke straight, and (a short) fitz&bela bonding time

“Hawke.”  Isabela leaned into the other’s shoulder, making eyes at the boy sitting across from them with an air of blatant amusement.  “Where did you say you found this little thing again?”

The boy scowled, nose scrunching and thick brows furrowing low over his eyes, and opened his mouth to reply, but Hawke beat him to it.

“I didn’t find him,” the man said indignantly.  “Anders can claim that.”

The man in question made a small noise on the other side of Fitz, who was now directing his scowl at Hawke rather than Isabela.  “I already told you all of this.  In detail.”

Fitz, who had a small spasm at the words ‘in detail’, finally broke into the conversation, realizing that silently scowling at everybody wasn’t going to work.

“Stop talkin’ about me like I’ma goddamn dog,” he said, leaning forward to better deliver his reprimand.  “Like, what the fuck.”

“Oh,” Isabela cooed, as though Fitz had just done something adorable.  “Look, he speaks and everything.  Puppy want a treat?”  She picked up a bit of bread from her otherwise empty dinner plate and dangled it in front of Fitz with additional cooing.  Fitz fought the urge to flail an arm out to knock it away.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” he said in disgust.  “I’m gonna puke.”

“Not at the table you aren’t,” Anders said, faint amusement etched onto his face.  “If you encourage her, she’ll only get worse.”

“Sweetness, you say that as though you’ve never encouraged me before,” Isabela said in a sugary voice, “and in many positions no less.”

Hawke groaned, and Varric joined him almost immediately, even though he’d only just returned to the table with a round of drinks.

“I was gone for a minute.  One minute, Rivaini,” Varric lamented, plopping the drinks on the table and gesturing for the others to grabs theirs.  He sat down with a huff.  “Nobody wants to hear shit like that.”

“I do,” Merrill piped in, having been listening intently for the duration of the whole conversation.  “What positions?  Have you tried to coax her up from the bar when she’s had one too many as well?  Because, in my experience, Bela always seems to get drunker as I try to carry her to her room.”

Hawke repeated his groan from earlier, while the others laughed. 

“Oh, I’ve missed something again, haven’t I?”

Fitz was in the same boat as Merrill, but figured it best to not even comment on it, or think further into it. 

He still wasn’t used to hanging out in a tavern, especially this particular one which was always filled with what were probably the sketchiest bunch of patrons in the history of forever.  He didn’t even go to many bars back home (underage, obviously), but he was reasonably sure they were supposed to have more music and less weird chanting going on in the back corner near the stairs.

He was trying not to look, but he could almost swear there was a cult congregating at one of the tables in the Hanged Man, and it was taking his all not to book it out the door.

It was a welcome relief, even though Hawke and his friends were actually pretty pleasant company all teasing aside, when a familiar face waved him down from across the room.

Fitz excused himself as unobtrusively as possible, unaware that his exit was in fact watched by some of the people he’d only just said goodbye to.

“You do know who that –” Isabela began to mutter, directing her words towards Varric, who nodded gravely.  Hawke looked at them both, shifting uneasily.  He’d recognized the man Fitz had just left with as well, one of Athenril’s main guys, and it wasn’t much of a comfort knowing that some kid was running around with people like him. 

Hawke shifted again, eyeing the door, and Isabela watched him, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

“It’s none of your business,” she told him, voice barely even lowered as Anders and Merrill had just engaged into a rather lively argument that was keeping the table busy.  “He may be young, but he’s a big boy.  He’ll make his own mistakes like the rest of us.”

Hawke frowned.  “You’re saying it’s his choice to work for a crew of smugglers, as though there is nothing but his own free will influencing his actions.  A mistake with them can ruin his whole life.”

“No need for the dramatics, Hawke,” Isabela rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying you give him very little credit.  So, stop looking as though you plan on vaulting over this table to chase after him and take a drink.  Stalking is very unbecoming, you know?”

Hawke took up Fitz’ mantle of scowling at their resident pirate and shot back, “Now who’s being dramatic?  I wasn’t going to _stalk_ him.”

“Oh, but you were going to vault over the table, yes?”

“Wha – _no_ , stop it.”

Isabela laughed, loudly, and hit Hawke on the back with more force than necessary.  Merrill peered over at the two of them, leaning around the pirate to get a look at Hawke, who looked only slightly sulky.

“Are you encouraging her?” the elf questioned, innocently, and that only led to more laughter, and yet another groan from Hawke.

~

“Hawke really likes you, you know,” Isabela said one day, completely out of the blue.

It was a little bit after I’d moved in with Merrill, so I was still getting used to seeing the pirate almost every day, as well as all the others, but it was still something I’d rather avoid.  Not because I didn’t like Isabela or anything, because I totally did, it’s just I wasn’t used to being around so many people constantly; people who actually talked to me, and wanted to hear me talk back. 

Isabela was always making fun of me and I didn’t always understand the things she said (though I was beginning to think it was safe to assume what I didn’t get was most likely dirty in some way), but she was cool.  She didn’t press too much, and she didn’t ask personal shit, which was why her intense stare right now was making me a bit nervous.

I shifted around on the cot Merrill had set up for me in her living room, which lay only a few feet away from her big table, where Isabela currently sat.  Merrill was out, probably at the market or something, but Isabela insisted on waiting around for her to get back.  I thought it wasn’t a big deal at first, but then she started _staring_.

I held onto the book in my lap a bit tighter, giving the woman a look like I thought she was crazy.

“Uh,” was the intelligible response I managed to form.

“He thinks you’re just the sweetest,” she went on, grin enlarging as she spoke.  “My words, of course, but the sentiment is the same.”

“Merrill absolutely adores you as well,” Isabela continued, voice lilting as she changed gears a bit.  “I mean, just look.  She’s letting you live in her own home.”

I had to fight not to sink down, trying not to let myself hide behind my book or something, as I responded, “She said she had plenty of room, and that it was a shame to let it all go to waste.”  Her words, exactly as she’d said them to me. 

Isabela raised one slim eyebrow.  “Yes, quite a shame.  Merrill’s a dear, trusting and innocent as could be.  One would hope that she needn’t worry about foul play in her own home.”

I shot up in bed, almost throwing my book down as I gaped with shock.  “Oh my god, you’re threatening me.  You’re totally threatening me ‘cuz of Merrill.”

“I must have missed that.  My threats are usually more…explicit than that, sweetness.”

“Listen, I’m not about to rob Merrill or anything like that, okay?” I promised, eyes wide.  “I like having a cot, and a room not filled with ten other people, thank you.  And – and, besides, it’s _Merrill_.  I’d have to be a complete asshole to hurt her.”

I think the earnest tone in my voice convinced Isabela somewhat of my trustworthiness, because she relented pretty quickly after that, but I was still stunned she thought I’d try to take advantage of Merrill of all people.

“You run with some pretty bad people, it was natural to exercise caution.  I’m sure you understand,” she said, almost apologizing.

“You run with bad people, too, you hypocrite,” I said back in astonishment.

“Simply a warning, sweetness,” Isabela pressed, raising her voice over mine a little.  “I am very invested in the well-being of our local elven mage.  _Very_ invested.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said in my best ‘duh’ voice.  “I am too, which is why I’ve helped her find Hightown like at least ten times in the past three months, you old hag.”

Isabela gasped.  “Call me that again, you little rat, and I’ll –”

Merrill opened the door just as Isabela was preparing to deliver what I was willing to bet would have been an impressive threat, and then it was like the entire conversation never happened.

~

Isabela didn’t say anything when Fitz yelled at Hawke in the Hanged Man, and she didn’t say a word when Hawke would complain about Fitz’ hobbies, but she knew it was time to say something when Fitz ignored Hawke for three days straight after the older man had interfered with the kid’s job.  Isabela waited until she had Hawke alone before confronting him.

“He’s not Bethany.”

Hawke’s head whipped around to look at Isabela, face contorted with astonishment that was warring pretty heavily with rage.

“He isn’t your sister, and nor is he your brother,” the pirate continued, voice firm and leaving no room for interruption.  “Every time you treat him as such, you push him away.”

“I do no such –”

“You _coddle_ him, Hawke,” Isabela stressed, crossing her arms and stepping forward until the two were face to face.  “You had no right to interfere with Athenril as you did.”  They were both standing outside of their favored tavern, and Isabela felt it the best place for a good talking to.  The backdrop of fallen-down drunks and dark shadows was comfortable, and it almost made her forget about how she was the one doing the interfering now.

“He’s just a _kid_.”

“Oh,” Isabela scoffed, “You know damn well that’s just a word.”

“He’s had just as much hardship as the rest of us,” she continued, “and even if there are times where it’s hard to see that, it’s still there.  He’s still just a child who grew up too fast – who resents being treated like he can’t make a _single_ _damn_ _decision_ for himself.”

Hawke was gutted, because for one thing; Isabela’s words held more truth that he wanted to think about.  And for another thing, it hurt him to even admit it.

When he had first met Fitz, it was true that he only saw some puffed up kid with an attitude problem and the evasion tactics of a champion, and it had reminded him so sharply of Carver that it _hurt_.  And then, as he got to know him, there were bits of Bethany that he saw in Fitz, and it all made him want to protect the elf with a fierceness that he could have explained quite easily if he had only let himself try.

“You might want to start thinking,” Isabela said, still in that stern voice that didn’t actually fit her, “whether you’re his friend, or his keeper.  Whether he’s a brother figure, or something more.”

Hawke was agreeing, but then –

“Wait,” he said abruptly, turning confused eyes onto the woman before him.  “What do you mean by –”

“Oh, think about it, sweetness,” Isabela laughed, shaking her head.  “It’ll come to you.”

(It did, only it was about a good year and a half later, but he still wasn’t really ready to do anything about it.  And then it was all taken from his hands, because Fitz left and he never had the chance to say anything.)

~

~

I had been sneaky, no one had even seen me grab the small pipe, but apparently being around Isabela puts a neon sign on my back, because I only had enough time to slip the pipe up my sleeve when the yelling started.  And then, naturally, we were running.

The shop keeper we were trying to escape from was faster than he looked, and he seemed pretty damn intent on chasing us to hell and back for whatever it was that Isabela did.  We were nearly in Darktown by the time we finally lost the guy, and my breathing was completely labored to shit when we ducked into a shadowy stoop to hide.  Luckily, the building we’d stopped at looked, and sounded, empty so we didn’t worry much about standing in front of the doorway like assholes.

“I like you, Fitz,” Isabela all but crowed, slapping a hand across my back, “You liven things up.  I never know what to expect when you’re around.”

“Hey, cap’n jack, how ‘bout a little less lively and a little more _shh_!” I hissed back, knocking an elbow her way without even thinking.  It never hit her, but she did quiet down.

“Oh, hush, they’ll never find us in here,” she told me, just as a group of people stopped in front of the darkened stoop we were hiding in.

It was just Hawke and a few of the others, and my shoulders immediately dropped, as did my heart rate.

“For once, it isn’t what it looks like,” Isabela explained, raising one arm half way and pointing at the group in front of us.  “Anders, wipe that smirk off your face right this second.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, pushing past Isabela and hopping down from stoop’s short steps quickly.  “I just about strangled myself.  See if I ever steal around a pirate ever again.”

“I would have happily strangled you, sweetness.  You need only ask.”

“Lady, that’s some kinky-ass shit that I ain’t about.  Stay away from me.”

“He’s an absolute angel, isn’t he?” Isabela said through grit teeth, aiming her words at the others.  She made sure to sound extra annoyed, but I could still see the humor on her face.  It was much like the one on mine, since I was also just playing around. 

That’s what I liked about Isabela.  She had a pretty good sense of humor.

“Break it up, you two,” Hawke said, sounding exasperated.  “Can’t you act like ideal civilians for one second?  Just one?  Or perhaps just stop breaking the law?”

“Um, and remain complacent with a corrupt system of power that disadvantages the underprivileged classes?  Hah, as if.”

Hawke blinked, and paused, before visibly shaking my words away.  “You can be an activist and not break the law, you little smart-ass.”

“Maybe, but that’s pretty lame.  And, besides, check it.”  I held up the rad looking pipe that I’d been hiding up my sleeve, showing it off with a smirk.  “Hand crafted shit right here.  With, like, mad details.  See?  Artist drew a frickin’ dragon on it.”

I pulled it back when Hawke tried to make a swipe at it, still smirking.  “I’ma make a fortune off this.  Nicked it from some old fuck on the other side of the docks.  Guy was probably rollin’ in it.”  I shoved the pipe into my coat pocket, and started backing away from everyone.  “Would love to stick around and chat, but there’s a guy I gotta see.  Peace.”

I waved a hand, giving them a brief peace sign, and turned to leave.

“You know, you could at least try to speak so we can understand you,” Hawke called after me, over Isabela’s cackling.

“Peace!”  I waved the peace sign again, not looking back at him as I walked away.

“Dinner’s at Merrill’s!”

I bobbed my head, not bothering with a proper reply since I was almost too far away at that point.  Merrill had said she’d invited the others over for dinner, asking me if I would be there too, and I had agreed, of course. 

I just hoped Aveline wouldn’t be there.  The others were sure to mention the pipe thing, and I really didn’t need the lecture she’d give me.

Eh, I could probably just throw Isabela under the bus if it came down to it.  Aveline loved yelling at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((bela knew what was up before hawke did ;p))


	10. A Prudish Hawke (He's Really Not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized i never wrote about how flustered hawke gets about (partial and full) nudity around a certain someone, so here we go :)
> 
> ((also, is this self-indulgent? you can bet your ass it is))

It was late, really late, when Sovin decided he had to have a male identity crisis, or whatever you want to call it.

We’d been waiting around the center of the alienage, mostly for Garrus, but he never showed so we were just sitting around for the hell of it by the time Sovin got real with me.  We were slouched on one of the larger stoops, the one that led up to Garrus’ apartment.  It was the perfect spot for hanging out at night, because for one thing; it kind of shrouded us in darkness, so no one could really see us unless they knew where to look.  The alienage didn’t get good lighting at night, which was good and bad.  Bad, because it meant muggings were easier to commit and good because me and Sovin could hang outside together and be bored together since the gates were shut and there was nothing else to do.  Also, nobody wanted to fuck with Sovin, because his sister was insane, so we were safe anyways.

“I don’t know, it’s just…” Sovin was talking about Garrus, and the guy’s supposedly good fortune with sex shit.  I got the sense that Sovin was probably a little jealous, or something.  “No one looks at me, you know?  I don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

I made a vague sound just to show that I was listening, though I wasn’t really interested.  Sovin nudged me, making me look at him. 

“Fitz…have you ever been with someone?”

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Like full-on X-rated shit or nah?”

Sovin just stared at me, confusion on his face, and I sighed.

Amending my words, I said, “No, man.  I ain’t been with somebody.”

“Elissa likes you,” Sovin burst out, admitting it like he was being forced to.  I blinked.

“No shit?”

“She does.”

I shrugged.  “’Kay.”

Sovin elbowed me for the indifference, and started a tirade about me being ungrateful and insensitive, which I mostly ignored.

“Jeez, bro.  If you wanna fuck someone so bad, go lookin’,” I said, a bit tetchily.  “Bet you can find a pity lay at the Hanged Man.”

Sovin hit me again.  “Maker, must you be so crude.  If my sister heard you, she would’ve beat you.”

I snickered and was about to say something, when I noticed a troupe of four people coming down the alienage’s front steps. 

“Oh shit – _shh_ ,” I hissed, elbowing Sovin sharply.

We sat, tensed, and watched the dark group move through the center of the alienage.  They passed our hiding spot, but they were too far away for us to make them out.  It was good, because it also meant they wouldn’t see us.

I relaxed when they stopped at Merrill’s house, and I realized all at once that it was just Merrill herself, along with Hawke and some of the others.

“Oh, it’s just Merrill,” Sovin breathed, visibly deflating next to me.  He looked at me when I stood up.  “You leaving?”

“Yeah.  Don’t want them, like, lookin’ for me or somethin’,” I told him, jumping down the steps we’d been sitting on.  I waved goodbye, and me and Sovin went our separate ways.

Merrill and the others were all inside and settled down when I entered the place.

“Scholar!  What late-night shenanigans have you been up to now?”  Varric greeted me with a large grin.  He, along with the others, were sitting around the table that sat in the back corner of the main room.  It was just barely big enough for the four of them, and I almost snickered at the sight of Hawke; he looked visibly uncomfortable and squeezed.  Varric and Isabela looked as comfortable as ever.

“Not being naughty, are we?” Isabela asked, clearly wanting the opposite of what she said if the wink she gave me meant anything.

I ignored them both, in favor of Merrill.

“Hey, Merrill,” I said, brightly, walking farther into the room.  I picked up my messenger bag from my cot, pulled out a small tin, and wandered over to where they all sat.  “I got you tea.”

Merrill jumped up, and somehow scurried over to my side without bumping into any of the others, even though she’d been sitting in the farthest away chair that was nestled between the table and the wall. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you!” she gushed, even going so far as to hugging me.  I felt my ears heat up, and I twitched a bit as I shoved the tin at her.  She took it happily and went off to make some tea.

“What?  Only Merrill has your favor?” Hawke asked, loudly, while the others encouraged him.

“I’m hurt, kitten,” Isabela pouted, holding a hand to her heart.  “You never greet _me_ with gifts.”

“Fuck off,” I said to all three of them, while they laughed at me.

They’d brought cards and were settled in for a night of games (and a gratuitous amount of cheating). 

“Fitz, we’re teaching Merrill how to play Wicked Grace,” Hawke said, as I turned away from them and headed for my cot.  I flopped down gracefully and looked back at him with boredom, already knowing what he was about to say.  “We can teach you too.”

“Nah,” I said, stretching my arms behind my head and getting comfy.  “Hey, how’d you guys get past the guards?”

The gates had been shut for a good hour at least, and I knew for a fact that the guards were assholes about letting people in, without the right cards that is.

The three of them laughed, and that was when Merrill returned, carrying a teapot and an assortment of chipped tea cups.  She answered for them.

“All Varric had to do was whisper some words,” she told me with wide eyes, as she set down the china.  “And in we went!  It really was a very nice trick.”

“It’s all in the persuasion, Daisy,” Varric said, already accepting the cup being handed to him by Merrill.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Hawke pondered, sarcastically, before directing his attention to me.  “There’s a cup for you as well, Fitzy.  Get over here.”

I grumbled, actually comfortable after laying down, but got up anyways.  Only because Merrill made tea for me too, not because Hawke told me to.

That’s how I came to be squeezed in between Hawke and Isabela, watching three assholes trying to teach Merrill how to cheat at cards.  Merrill listened to them all intently, seeming to be humoring them, but I was drooping; slouched over, chin propped up on a palm and everything.

“Don’t let us keep you up,” Hawke said, leaning over and ruffling my hair.  I jerked out of the lull I’d been going into, and everybody laughed when my elbow slid off the table, making me almost fall forward. 

“There’s fresh water in the back, lethallin,” Merrill told me, idly looking between her cards and the ones already laid out on the table.  “I know you’ll want to take a bath first.”

Varric snorted.  “Well, we weren’t going to say anything, but since Daisy said it…” he gave me a glance over, raising one judgmental brow.  “You stink, Scholar.”

Merrill waved a hand, dismissively, before plopping down a card with satisfaction.  “Oh no, that’s not what I meant!  Fitz just likes bathing.”

Everybody turned to look at me, all with surprise on their faces.  I scowled.

“Fuck off with those looks,” I said, standing up.  I turned away from them and walked over to my cot.  I had my other clothes stuffed underneath it, so I pulled them out and threw them over my shoulder. 

“Not much privacy, you know,” Hawke said, sounding weird.  “Shouldn’t you wait until guests are gone?”

I made a face, scrunching up my nose at his dumb words.  “What for?  It’s just you three.”

“Oh, yes.  Who cares about us,” Hawke said dryly, looking at the woman next to him, who was leering at me.  “It’s not like _Isabela_ is here.”

“Need any help, kitten?” the woman in question offered, raising her voice into a sing-song lilt.  “I’d be glad to soap your back for you.”

I was already in the back room, so I couldn’t see them anymore.  All I heard was a crash, and then Isabela was cursing. 

I shook my head, and just wrote them off as weirdos.  I was too tired to realize that the look on Hawke’s face was one of discomfort, and that it was because of me.  I didn’t even know he had a thing against showing too much skin until nearly a year later.

~

“Hey…”

Walking out of Hawke’s room, plucking at the weird robe currently hanging off my shoulders, I tried not to make a face at my current predicament. 

“Varric said I could wear this, but…” I called down to Hawke, as I got closer to the staircase.  I only glanced up briefly, just long enough to determine that Hawke was indeed at his writing desk and not in some other part of his stupidly big house.  

As I took the steps two at a time, I tried tightening the belt that had been lying on top of the shirt I had just appropriated from Hawke’s room, but the holes didn’t go far enough so I had to deal with the whole thing slouching sideways across my waist.  The belt at least stopped the shirt from looking like a nightgown on me though, so whatever.

I was too busy messing with my borrowed shirt-robe-thing, that I didn’t really pay attention to what was going on around me.  I only vaguely heard the choking noise coming from Hawke’s direction, and I definitely heard the laughter coming from the fireplace where Isabela sat, and as a result of my inattention, combined with the quick way I was going down the stairs, I tripped right as I made it to the ground floor.  I caught myself, of course, but I did stumble and the shirt slid completely off one shoulder due to my near-fall.

I made a face at the shirt as I lifted my arm up to shrug the piece of clothing back into place before turning to Hawke, preparing to complain.

“It’s too big,” I whined, ignoring the laughter coming from the others; preferring to appeal to Hawke instead.  “Do you have any other shirts I could borrow?  Maybe a sweater?  It’s kinda cold in here.  Pants would be cool, too.  But, Varric said there weren’t any that would fit me.”

Hawke stared at me like I’d grown three heads, gaping a little as he took in my attire.  I shifted awkwardly, wondering if I had taken a shirt that was off-limits or something weird like that, but before I could ask, Hawke’s eyes started to widen even more and he made the same choking sound as before.

“What on – what _are_ you wearing?” he asked, pointing, rather rudely, at the lower half of my body. 

I looked down, wondering what the hell his problem was, and all I could figure was that he had some kind of issue with my boxers.

Okay, so they weren’t really boxers.  Apparently Thedas wasn’t on board with the whole boxers thing, but hell if I was going to voluntarily wear some loincloth type shit.  Imagine the look on my face when I’m poking around the bazaar, trying to buy clothes, and I see fucking loincloths being sold in broad daylight; I just about fucking left, because this medieval shit totally just took on a whole new level of pure fuckery. 

So, yeah.  Not wearing loincloths.  Not wearing anything like it either.  Side-note, this is also what made me take up sewing with a passion, more so than just the skills I needed in order to patch up my coat whenever it got new holes in it.  I ended up fashioning my own brand of boxers out of the softest material I could get for cheap, and I even got the alienage hahren to teach me how to sew them (she didn’t ask why I was basically making short-shorts for myself, which I was grateful for).

That was ages ago, like before Hawke ages-ago, so I had almost forgotten they were weird-looking here.  For Hawke’s benefit, I lifted the shirt up high so that he could properly see my boxers, and I couldn’t help but notice that he turned red in the face, though I was already beginning to talk when I noted that.

“Boxers, er, underclothes or whatever,” I said.  “The hell you think they are?”

“Uh,” Hawke coughed, looking away, and I squinted at him.  “They’re awfully…loose.”

“Oh, I _have_ to see this,” Isabela said, obviously listening in, and she was already standing when we glanced over at her.  She had been sitting on the couch with Varric when I came down, and now she was walking towards us with this shit-eating grin on her face.  She eyed me blatantly, and I turned to show her my boxers as well. 

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, dropping my shirt.  “I just don’t like the shit you wear here.  So fucking uncomfortable.”

Isabela crossed her arms, looking at me thoughtfully.  “And it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, everything swaying in the breeze in such loose garments?”

I made a face at her words, and Hawke didn’t even hold back a groan.  My attention returned to him when he took a step back from us, face still red.

“I’ll just…find you some pants, alright?” he said, shaking his head at the two of us.  I raised my eyebrows at him, my lips curling into a grin at his obvious discomfort.

“Are you body shy or something?” I asked.  “Because you’re, like, _really_ red.”

Isabela practically howled as Hawke grew even redder.  I was messing with him, but I was genuinely curious.  I didn’t think Hawke was one to be iffy about skin showing.

“No, I am _not_ –” he started, before I spoke over him.

“I mean, it’s okay.  I get it, but…like, I woulda put pants on, but none of them fit,” I admitted, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“Oh – so, you, uh…you tried them on then?” he said falteringly, rubbing the back of his head and all but refusing to look at me.  I narrowed my eyes at him, and started picking at the shirt again, trying to cover up as much as possible since he was acting seriously weird.

“Yeah,” I said, drawing out the word, “and Varric wasn’t kiddin’.  They didn’t fit.  It’s, uh, not a big deal…just gotta wait for my other clothes to dry.  I’ll just – go wait upstairs, or somethin’–”

“No, no,” Hawke was quick to say, waving a hand around.  “It’s fine.  I’m not bothered.  I just don’t feel so well right now.  I think I’ve caught the same sickness mother has right now…come on, let’s sit you by the fire.”

“Oh…right.  She sleepin’ then?” I asked as he gestured me towards the couch Varric was still sat on.  I had completely forgotten that his mom was sick.  “She feelin’ any better?”

“She is,” Hawke replied, giving me a smile as I folded myself up on the couch.  He stood just behind it, leaning his arms over the back.  “And she also told me to give you some of the soup Bodahn made.”

“Awesome,” I said, wrapping my arms around my legs and practically basking in the warmth from the fireplace.

“You’re both disgusting,” Isabela said, having followed us back to the fire as well.  She practically threw herself down onto the couch next to me, heaving a sigh as she went.  “And dense.”

“Now, now, Rivaini,” Varric finally spoke, and it was the first time I even realized how quiet he’d been.  “Best to let them work it out for themselves, you know?  That’s how the best stories unfold.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I scoffed, glancing at the dwarf sitting on my right.  “What’s there to figure out?  What kind of soup Bodahn made?”

Varric gave me a look, which I was almost positive held a mixture of pity and disbelief.  Hawke spoke before he could say anything back, and before I could make it known that I was totally joking about the soup thing.

“They’re just being themselves – _weird_ ,” Hawke told me, stressing the last word and I didn’t miss the significant looks he gave to the two people sitting on either side of me.  “I’ll go get that soup.”

“Oh, bring me some as well!” Isabela called after him, surprising me by throwing an arm around my shoulders and leaning in close to me.  “In the meantime, I’ll keep Fitz warm until you get back!”

Hawke only replied with faint cursing, having already walked across the room by the time Isabela finished speaking.

“You’re too much sometimes.  You know that, Rivaini?” Varric commented, dryly. 

Isabela squeezed my shoulder, her body pressing into mine as she practically leaned over me in order to address Varric.

“I’m only helping him.  Honestly…” she pouted.  “He’s just so set on being a right idiot.”

“Your boobs are, like, smothering me,” I interrupted, trying to lean back.  “Can you get off now?”

That surprised a laugh out of Isabela, and she finally scooted back, her arm leaving my shoulders as well.  I breathed a sigh of relief, although I was pretty proud of myself for tolerating the touch for so long.

“You can be so blunt sometimes, sweetness,” she told me, grinning.  “I love it.”

“Great,” I replied, completely deadpan.  “You’re welcome.”

She didn’t get the chance to say anything else as Hawke rushed back into the room with a bowl of soup for me, and none for Isabela.  And, then all I was thinking about was food and how good it was. 

Later, when my clothes were all dried and I was about to go home, I happened to catch a look at Hawke’s desk, which he had resumed sitting at after bringing me my free meal.

My eyes were caught by a piece of paper specifically.  While it was still on top of everything else, the little slip of paper looked like it had been pushed aside at some point, as if Hawke were trying half-heartedly to hide it (which was probably the reason my eyes were drawn to it in the first place).

It was a to-do list, which wasn’t so odd since I already knew that Hawke preferred to organize his day via bullet-pointed lists, but I read it anyways because I’m nosy like that.  It was just one short line, the last line, that caught me, but it still managed to fill me with this weird sort of all-encompassing warmth that was totally different from how the fire felt earlier.

_Buy extra clothes – for F._

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second half is just something based on a doodle i drew a while ago, and i thought it was cute/funny enough to share ^-^
> 
> btw if u guys have any prompts u wanna throw at me...im game >u>


	11. tumblr prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are just some prompts from tumblr. they turned out much longer than i meant...

_**12\. Awakening (or something)** _

He wasn’t trying to be obvious.  Still, I noticed immediately that Hawke wasn’t happy with me, and I felt bad, but it wasn’t until Isabela’s elbow rammed into my side and Merrill trained disappointed eyes on me that I realized I shouldn’t just ignore it.

Thinking it all over, I felt like shit.

“Oh,” I breathed, face burning as I avoided the looks I was getting (and the bruising pain developing on my right side), “Fuck.”

I didn’t _run_ after Hawke; it was more of a light jog.  A fast walk.

I could almost forget the accusing eyes of our friends when I caught up to him, but then he was looking at me with even worse eyes and it felt a lot like drowning.

“Hawke, man,” I started, struggling not to play with my hands, “I didn’t –”

“Don’t worry about it, Fitz,” he interrupted, voice only slightly less sad than the expression on his face.  “I understand.”  I knew what he meant when he said that.

_You always get mean when you’re defensive.  Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall._

Hawke had said something in passing, and I’d been in a foul mood all day, and then he asked a question that just made me worse and I freaking _snapped_. 

He didn’t deserve it, of course.  His question wasn’t even that bad, just something about my day, and I nearly tore his head off.

“It’s alright.”

I shied away when he lifted a hand, going to place it on my shoulder as some kind of reassurance that I sure as hell didn’t deserve, and I shook my head, probably with more vehemence than necessary.

“No, man.  It’s not alright…” I crossed my arms, tilting my head up slightly but I couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.  I pretended like I was anyways and that made it easier to keep talking.  “I didn’t mean none of that.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m tryin’ not to…” I fought for words, feeling more and more unsure by the second, “Tryin’ not to do shit like – like blowing up and all that.”

Hawke’s hand was warm on my shoulder, and he was smiling when he said, “Fitz, I know.  I _understand_.”

I frowned at him, but didn’t try to shrug off the grip he had on me.  It was confusing, but I felt calmer all of a sudden, just because Hawke was smiling and saying he understood me, even though _I_ didn’t know why I do half the things I do.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, knowing it couldn’t hurt to give a second apology. 

Hawke brought his arm around my neck this time, squeezing playfully.  “Alright, enough of this.  I can’t possibly be upset with you when you have that look on your face, so chin up.”

Elbow resting on my shoulder, Hawke lifted his hand to press into the hair on the top of my head, pushing my head down contrary to his previous order of ‘chin up’. 

Any other day I would’ve told him off, would’ve accused him of messing up my hair or bullying me, but this time I stayed quiet, and I couldn’t stop wondering after the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’d just noticed that I always felt the same feeling every time Hawke was this close, had been for a while, and it was eerily like a realization of sorts; a type of awakening inside that went deeper than I probably even realized.

To me, that feeling was a pattern I didn’t dare think too much on.

 

~

 

**_14\. Brave Soul (it’s not said in so many words, but Hawke’s always been the resilient sort; brave in the face of pain, and all that)_ **

“Hey.”

Hawke didn’t look up from his desk.  He was pouring over letter after letter, had been for hours – for the entire time I’d been here actually.  We’d barely even talked at all.

“Yes, Fitz?” 

It was dark already.  I didn’t want to leave earlier, and now it was too late anyways, but I thought I’d ask if it was okay for me to stay the night.  Just to be sure.

“You mind if I sleep over?”

I played with a page from my book as I spoke, folding the corner over until a little crease showed up, and waited for his answer.  I knew it was delayed only because he was still focused on the letter he was writing, but I still felt anxious anyways.

“Of course not,” he finally replied, even looking up to throw me a quick smile.  I looked away, back to the book I’d been pretending to read for the past hour, but had really been doodling in the pages.  “You don’t have to ask.  You’re always welcome to spend the night.”

I smiled at the book, because it was easier than directing it to Hawke, and all I said in return was a muttered, “Cool.”

Hawke didn’t say anything back to that, he was pretty focused on what he was doing, as was usual lately.  It hadn’t been all that long since his mother passed away, and I think he mostly got through those days by throwing himself into his work.  I think it took his mind off the hurt, and helped so that he could laugh and joke like he used to.

So, Hawke went back to work, and I went back to defacing a particularly dumb book about the Chantry’s history in Ferelden and when I was done, I put it back in one of Hawke’s bookshelves, knowing he’d never find out because he was less interested in Chantry politics and history than I was.

~

“Alright,” Hawke said, putting his pen down with a small flair of dramatics; enough to make me jump slightly from where I sat, cross-legged, in front of the flickering fireplace.  I watched as he stood and stretched, his back making a small popping sound from the hours spent leaning over a small desk.  Then, he was heading over to me.

“You’ve got that look on your face,” he told me, teasingly, as he sat himself down next to me, exaggeratingly making a career of getting comfortable on the rug underneath us.  His arm was flush against mine, and I couldn’t help but think about how close we were.  He leaned forward, attempting to get a better look at my face, since I had returned to looking at the fireplace rather than meeting his eyes.  “You know, the one where you look deep in thought, which is always a surprise.  You haven’t hurt yourself, have you?”

I scowled, but it was just for show, and he chuckled, lifting a hand to ruffle my hair.  I didn’t lean into it, but I didn’t move away either.  I didn’t even flinch at the touch, and for some reason that made me feel even more peaceful.  I liked spending nights at Hawke’s place.  However, my good mood didn’t stop me from replying with a scoffed, “Fuck off”.

Hawke’s fingers scratched at a spot behind my ear for a moment, before his hand fell down to rest around my shoulder.  We didn’t speak for a moment, and it was a nice silence, but then I guess Hawke got tired of it because he broke it.

“Something interesting inside that fire?”

I didn’t reply except to tilt my head a little to the right.  I wasn’t going to answer that.  I knew what Hawke really wanted, and it was to know what was on my mind.  Since he apparently felt like talking now, I went a different route instead.

“You’ve been really busy lately,” I said, tilting my head a little more so I could look at him.  His eyes flickered my way when he felt my gaze, and he lifted his eyebrows a little at my comment.  “You should, like, go on vacation or something.”

There was more I wanted to say; things like ‘you’re always out, helping people who sometimes don’t even deserve it, and you never fucking _rest’_ and ‘are you even okay?’, but I didn’t say any of that.  It would’ve been too awkward.

Hawke let out a small laugh.  “I only wish.  But, alas, I’m afraid Kirkwall would be run into the ground should I leave for even a minute.  It’s always ‘Hawke, do this’ or ‘Hawke, please, won’t you save our entire family from ruin?’,” he paused, putting on an expression of contemplation, before adding, “Honestly, I think this place believes me to be some kind of miracle worker.”

I shrugged, partially as an attempt to dislodge Hawke’s arm, but he didn’t budge and I wasn’t trying all that hard anyways.

“Yeah, they should just crown you king and be done with it.”

“Free Marches don’t have a monarchy, you know that,” he said, jokingly, and I rolled my eyes.

“Whatever,” I replied, waving a dismissive hand.  “You know what I meant.  But, still.  Should, like, go camping or something.  Get out of the city, ya know, before they run _you_ into the ground.”

“Would you like to go camping?”

I twitched a little, before scoffing and waving my hand once again.  “Hah, nah.  I mean, _I_ still gotta work.  But, I’m not, like, saving innocent people in Kirkwall on a daily basis, so–”

Hawke’s grip on my shoulder tightened, and he fell forward into a slouch, bringing me along with him.  It also made it so that we were closer together, and my face heated up for reasons I didn’t quite understand, but, yet again, I didn’t try to move away.

“Let’s go to Sundermount,” Hawke announced.  “Not this week, but perhaps in a fortnight?  We can see if some of the others wish to join us.  Aveline will decline, of course, and Varric would rather have his chest shaved than spend a night in the forest.  But, I’m sure we could make a party of it.”

My flush deepened, and I tried to put up a token fight.  “Hawke, I didn’t mean–”

“And, if we can’t convince any of the others,” he went right on, his confident voice effectively shutting me up, “it will be just as much fun with just the two of us.” 

He looked at me then, dropping his arm from around my neck and pulling back, but I was left stuck, because I had been shamelessly staring at him; my mouth was probably hanging open or something stupid like that.  I couldn’t look away either, because something happened in Hawke’s eyes that caught my attention.  They went softer, or something, and then he smiled, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to refuse him again. 

“Besides, you’re right,” he said, after he knew he had my attention.  His voice dropped a bit, and an edge of seriousness crept into his voice as he spoke.  “I _have_ been far too busy, and I feel like we haven’t had a chance to just relax in a long time.  We both could use some time off, don’t you think?  I hear the bazaar has been running you ragged these days.  How many messages have you delivered just on this day alone?”

He had a point, and I knew it, but that wasn’t the reason why I agreed, though I don’t think _he_ knew that.  I kept eye contact, and it was probably the first time in a long time that I kept my gaze locked on another person without so much as an urge to look away.  All I could think about were how pale his eyes looked with the fire’s light in front of us, and that I really would like to go camping, even though I had denied it earlier. 

“I…I suppose I could take a few days off,” I finally gave him my answer, and my stomach flipped at the smile he responded with.  “But, not on a Thursday.  Those are my busiest days, and I can’t–”

Hawke rolled his eyes, and ruffled my hair roughly to shut me up.  “Yes, yes.  I know how your Thursdays are.  You never cease to complain about them, and I _do_ listen when you talk.  Sometimes.”

I scowled, biting back a grin.  “Good to know those big ears are actually fuckin’ useful.”

“You’re one to talk,” he replied without missing a beat, delivering a firm push that had me tumbling over.  I called out in exaggerated outrage, and made sure to kick out as I fell.  I laughed when I made contact, and only laughed harder when I heard Hawke curse.

“Alright, you’ve started this,” he declared, as he retaliated; grabbing me up in a headlock before I could make a safe get away. 

“Did not!  You shoved me,” I shot back, trying to grab the hand that was making its way to annihilate my hair.  “Don’t!  Shit, get off!  Uncle!”

Hawke laughed at me, but my pleading was useless.  He’d already begun to mess up my hair when I called out ‘uncle’ and he didn’t stop until it was standing properly on edge.  Like, tufts of hair pointing out on all sides like a ragged birds nest.

“Fuck you,” I grumbled, as he let me go and I went about fixing it.  I cringed, already feeling some knots.  “How the fuck do you even…”

I trailed off, just grumbling to myself, and didn’t move to follow Hawke, even as he stood and stretched, still sort of laughing at me.

“Time for bed, I think,” he said, before glancing at the large clock that hung above the fireplace.  He cringed when he caught the time.  “Maker, apparently I’m old.  It’s not even late, and I’m exhausted.”

Jumping at the chance to make fun, I said, “Well, watch out with that stretching then.  Don’t wanna go putting out your back, old man.  Oh, and I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you got a grey hair.  Right there.”  Momentarily pausing in my attempts to fix the rat’s nest on my head, I pointed to a random spot in the general vicinity of Hawke’s head, and cracked up when his hand shot up to the supposed grey hair’s location.  He scowled at me good-naturedly, and made an aborted move, as though he were about to attack again, and I scuttled back on instinct.

“You’re full of it,” he just said, though he did run a hand through his hair.  “I’m going to bed then, no need to stay here and be mocked.”

He walked past me, towards the large staircase, but before he even began to climb the stairs, he was turning back to me, pointing an accusing finger my way as though he’d just remembered something to yell at me for.

“And don’t go writing in any more of the books!” he said accusatorily, eyebrows jumping as he mockingly went on to scold me.  “I found what you did to the one Anders lent me, and he won’t give it rest.  Even though I told him _you_ did it.”

“Oh, come on, you didn’t wanna read that book anyways,” I said breezily, not taking him seriously at all.  “And, harsh, bro.  You gave me up just like that?  To Anders?  Now he’s, like, gonna lecture or some shit.”

“You would deserve it,” Hawke said as he finally began to take the stairs.  “Just imagine if I showed him what you did to one of the manifestos he gave me.”

I actually stood up at that, nearing the stairs in order to call up to Hawke, who was nearly on the second floor by then.  “Don’t you dare!  Oh my god, that’d be fuckin’ cruel, dude.  You promised you wouldn’t show him!”

Hawke laughed, and just called from over his shoulder, “Then you’d better watch which books you decide to deface.  And, be nicer to me.  Though, that’s probably asking for too much.”

“It is,” I agreed, empathetically nodding my head.  Hawke paused to look down at me, leaning against the railing on the second floor that overlooked the main one.  “But, honestly, I think I’m making those books better.  And it’s not like you’re reading them or anything.”

Hawke waved a hand, and I knew he didn’t really mind.  “Yes, that’s all well and true, but should you write in another one of Anders’ books and he tries to blame _me_ , I will not hesitate to give you up to the slaughter.”

“Ouch,” I called up, settling back down in my spot by the waning fire.  “Slaughter?  Savage, bro.”

Hawke laughed again, and I watched him walk across the landing above.  His room was right at the end of that odd loft-like hallway.  All he replied with was a warm goodnight, which I returned.

That night, I couldn’t help but feel slightly excited at the thought of camping, and it wasn’t even the camping part that was making me all jittery.  I was just happy at the thought of _leaving_ the city.  Seeing something other than grey walls and snobby nobles.  No running messages for harried vendors (and _more_ snobby nobles), and no after-dark missions from Athenril.

There would be trees, and many of them.  And there wouldn’t be that city-smell that I’d always been kind of use to, even though I knew there was no way New York ever smelled as bad as Kirkwall.  Kirkwall was way worse.  Hands down.

It’d be nice, I figured.  It’d also be nice to spend time with Hawke, just hanging out, without the looming shadows of work hanging over us. 

As I fell asleep, not in the bed waiting for me upstairs but on the floor of Hawke’s living room, I decided that camping was a great idea.  I also made plans to climb a tree, because I hadn’t done that in forever and it’d just be kind of nice.  Remind me of being a kid again or something, and all those summers I spent surrounded by nature rather than a dumb city.

I didn’t even mind that it would be Thedas-nature surrounding me, and it didn’t even cross my mind to be disappointed that it wasn’t the backwoods of Jersey that I’d be visiting. 

All I thought about was having a little get-away, with Hawke and whoever else wanted to come along, and that was honestly good enough for me.  Maybe even more than that.

 

~

 

_**28\. Entrusted (in which Fitz opens up as much as a Fitz can)** _

“I hope my dad’s okay.”

I don’t know why I said that, but it was like I had to.  I’d been thinking about my dad and home a lot more recently, especially after what happened with Hawke’s mother, and it was becoming harder and harder to hold it in. 

There were just four of us sitting around Hawke’s living room, but even the weight of three sets of eyes felt almost too much to bear.  I slouched further into the couch, shoulders practically up to my ears, and trained my eyes on the fireplace in front of me.  Hawke shifted from the right of me, but it was Aveline who spoke.

“Where is he now?” she asked, an odd touch of hesitance in her voice that was a sharp contrast to the assertive edge she usually spoke with.  “Back…home?”

I glanced at her, eyes glossing over Hawke and onto Aveline, who was sitting on the second couch that sat perpendicular to the one Hawke and I had claimed.  Varric was sitting next to her, and he was looking at me too, waiting for my answer.

I looked back to the fire.  “Yeah.”

“You ever think about going home, Scholar?” Varric asked this time, making me jerk backwards.  “Maybe check in with the old man?”

I stared at him in disbelief, before remembering that his question wasn’t actually all that out there.  Of course, if my dad lived over in Ferelden or Rivain or some shit, then I could totally make a trip to go see him.  You know, if only.

My surprise resulted in a bit of strangled laughter, that I cut off quickly after one short gurgle escaped my mouth, and shook my head.  “Nah, man.  Can’t do that.”

They wanted to ask why, I could feel it, but the three of them were also conscientious enough to hear the closed off tone in my voice, the meaning underlining my words, so they didn’t press it.  I just sat there, wondering why the hell I had opened my mouth in the first place.

Hawke cleared his throat, making us all look at him, and he grinned toothily before speaking.

“Only time will tell, eh, Fitzy?” he said to me, winking.  “You might figure out a way to visit home someday.  I for one, know that I plan to make a trip to Ferelden in the future.  I’m thinking it might be nice to see Highever.  Perhaps the Storm Coast.  Varric, Aveline, what do you think of rain?”

A smile was sneaking onto my face, because I knew Hawke was just spouting shit, and because he’d done it for me.  I might not have shown it, but I was feeling pretty damn sentimental, was probably a few seconds away from losing my voice, and I had a feeling Hawke knew it.

Varric groaned in response.  “Don’t even ask me.  The day I voluntarily leave Kirkwall to go explore some backwoods country is the day I officially lose my damned mind.”

“You voluntarily run around Sundermount with us,” Aveline said with a snort, “Does that mean you’ve unofficially lost your damned mind?”

Varric waved a hand.  “Semantics, my dear Guard Captain.  At least I can see the city walls from that damn mountain.  In Ferelden it’s all trees, snow, and more mountains.  And that’s it.”

“While I’m hurt that you refuse to risk the Ferelden wilderness with me, I completely respect your decision, my friend,” Hawke said, in a mildly huffy voice.  He turned his head towards Aveline.  “And you, Aveline?  Would you go on such an adventure with me?”  I think he batted his eyelashes at her, mostly because Aveline gave him a slightly disgusted look in return.

“Hawke, I loathe to think of the trouble a journey like that would bring,” she scoffed.  “It’s bad enough going into the Gallows with you, let alone trekking across a country.  Once was bad enough.”

“Oh, please,” Hawke scoffed back, looking offended, “The boat ride wasn’t _that_ bad.  I was completely tame the entire time.”

“Is that what you thought?” Aveline retorted, eyes wide with incredulity.  She looked to me and Varric, shaking her head.  “You both know better than to believe him, I’m sure.”

Hawke made some weird squawky noises when we both just nodded back, and he was still sputtering overdramatically when I opened my mouth.

“Yo, I bet that’d be fuckin’ wild,” I said, going to elbow Hawke in the gut to shut him up (I couldn’t reach his actual gut so I hit his arm instead), but I got my point across regardless.  “I’d go on a road trip with you – uh, I mean, like go to Ferelden and shit.  I wanna – I like mountains.”

Hawke was grinning, a bit smugly when he aimed a look at Aveline, but his eyes were warm.  “See?  At least I have one _true_ friend,” he said pointedly, throwing an arm across the back of the couch, hand brushing my shoulder as he settled in.  “If we can rope Merrill in, we’ll have a grand old time.”

“Oh, invite her and you’ll all be dead before you take five steps,” Aveline laughed, shaking her head some more.  “She’ll attract all the bears of Ferelden to your exact location.  _Before_ you even land on shore.”

Hawke winced, as if remembering something, and amended his statement.  “Well…we’ll see, then.  You know, I was just talking for fun.  No need to get all rude.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I’m not leaving tomorrow, or any day soon.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you’re Kirkwall’s freakin’ hero,” I muttered, thinking about how Hawke had this city on his back 24/7.  It was hard to imagine him ever taking a break, like a long get-away type thing.  It was hard to imagine him leaving Kirkwall.

Hawke nudged me.  “Nobody likes a mutterer, Fitzy.”

I rolled my eyes.

 

~

 

**_31\. Protect and Control_ **

“Yeah, but…why live here if you could afford somewhere better?” I asked, shifting a bit as the wind picked up, sending shivers down my back.

“We have somewhere better,” Hawke confided, giving me a small smile as he leaned his elbows on the step above us.  “It’s just taking us longer to get it than we anticipated.  Damned nobles are trying to bar us from our own estate.”

I blinked, not quite getting it.  “But, you hate it here.  Couldn’t you just…move somewhere nicer?  In the meantime?”

Hawke huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.  “I wish.  Sadly, mother is set on getting the family home back.  I think she’d rather continue living with my uncle than accept defeat.”

I wanted to ask him why he doesn’t just move out, but I felt like I was missing something.  Something I wasn’t understanding right. 

“What is it?” Hawke asked, nudging my foot with his.  “Come on, you have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“Your _thinking_ face.  Looks painful.”

I elbowed him, and he let me.  “I don’t get it,” I finally admitted.  “Why don’t you move out then?  Get yourself a room at the Hanged Man like Varric, until you get your house back.  Then you wouldn’t have to deal with your uncle’s shit anymore.”  And Hanged Man’s at least on a nicer street.

Hawke shook his head.  “Oh, I understand what you mean now.”

“Family, Fitz.  I’d rather be with my family,” he told me, quite seriously.  “It’s more important to me that we’re all together, and well…since it’s only mother and I left…”  Hawke trailed off and I cringed, regretting my words.

“Sorry,” I said immediately, but he waved me off.  He was smiling, and I stopped to stare.

“You know what I mean, don’t you?” he asked me, eyes searching.  “If you could be with your family, you would choose them before being alone, right?”

I swallowed hard, turning my head away from him to stare at the empty stoop of his neighbor’s.  How the hell do I answer that one.  Can I even?  For a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to speak.

“I – I gotta go.  Gates closing…” I sprang up from the step I’d been sitting on, hopping down the rest of the stairs with just a bit too much bounce.  I looked over my shoulder, to say goodbye, and faltered at the disappointed look I saw on Hawke’s face.  I knew he was trying to hide it when he smiled and said goodbye, and I almost ignored it.  Almost.

I stayed where I was, trying to get the right words out even though they were always too jumbled for me to make sense of when I was in situations like this.  Still, I was proud of what I did end up saying; not because it was profound or anything, but because it made Hawke’s smile real.

“I’d choose the same,” I said, voice coming out too low in the beginning, though Hawke seemed to understand me just fine.  He grinned at me, and it reached his eyes.

“Get some sleep, Fitz,” was all he said back, and then I was leaving and before I knew it I was at the alienage gates, one of the guards tsking me for cutting it close.

~

“Why won’t you speak of your home?” Hawke asked me one night.  We were at Merrill’s, and she had already dozed off, laying her head on top of a pile of open books like they were the comfiest pillows in the world.  I cut short in snickering at the sight of her, trying to stop myself from looking at Hawke like he’d just shot me or something.  “You don’t have to answer.  I was just wondering – er, have been wondering for some time now,” he added on quickly, obviously seeing my expression for what it was.

I gulped, movements a bit jerky as I shifted my position on my cot.  I was swathed in my blanket, so Hawke couldn’t see the way my fingers were clenched, even though it felt like it to me.

“I – uh –” I coughed awkwardly, thinking of how to respond.  He’d asked so innocently, and I knew he wasn’t expecting anything from me – I felt like I had to answer.  I kind of _wanted_ to answer.  “It’s hard…to talk about.”

“You needn’t speak then,” he replied, softly.

“I miss them,” I said, suddenly, peering up at Hawke to gauge his reaction.  He had brought his chair a little closer to my bed, though the table really wasn’t all that far from where I was curled up anyways.  The new set up did gave me a better vantage point for watching Hawke’s expressions, though. 

He didn’t say anything; he just inclined his head, eyes still on me in that non-judgmental way of his.  I liked it when he looked like that, especially since he could be pretty judgmental about the stupidest things sometimes, though this time was not one of them so obviously those other times don’t matter.  Just in this moment, at least.

“I never got to say goodbye,” I told him, and I could feel how close I was to pouring out everything, “and now they have no clue where I am and I can’t even go back, or – or call them…and it – it just _sucks_.”

I had to take a deep breath, tears were welling up, and then Hawke let out a small breath too and leaned forward so that he was even closer to me.  Not close enough to touch, and for once, I thought I might not be too happy about that.

“Those who say goodbye are lucky,” he murmured, hands on his knees, his hair covering his eyes for a split second before he lifted his head higher to return my stare.  “Life can be cruel when it decides who is lucky and who is not.”

“Is your family safe – were they well the last you saw them?”

“Y-yes,” I whispered, remembering how my dad was going to be gone all evening for a night class, so I wasn’t going to see him anyways, but I’d just called Scott on my way home from school, I had detention, and he’d got a pizza and he was going to meet me at my place.  Everything was fine, everything was just normal.

“Do you have any reason to think that might have changed?”

I shook my head.  “Dad won’t be eating well.  Scott might’ve flunked a class.”  What happens when a person goes missing?  What happens to their families and their friends?  I remember hearing that most parents end up divorcing after a kid dies or something, but dad never got married in the first place.  Some people probably become depressed when a loved one goes missing or dies? 

What if they pronounced me dead back home?

Oh god, there’d be no body.  No trace of me, except for the cell phone I’d dropped when my foot sank into the street below me.  How many days do they search for you when you go missing?  How long before they say case closed due to insufficient leads?  Am I a runaway or did my family hold my own funeral while I’ve been here, scraping by in Kirkwall for the past months?

I turned over, breathing erratic, and I didn’t even think about Hawke anymore, his concern or about how he was going to see me have a full blown panic attack in Merrill’s living room.

I wasn’t thinking, because I was focused on breathing and shutting down my mind.  Those thoughts are bad, thinking of home only makes life worse.  Easier to shut it off.

A weight rested on my back, I hadn’t even noticed I’d sat up in bed, and then it moved, up and down, slowly.  Then, it was Hawke who had his arm around me, not some nameless entity putting comforting pressure on my back.  He was whispering things to me too, but I don’t remember what he said.  It was soothing and that’s all that mattered.

“Thanks,” I rasped, when I was finally able.  Hawke helped me lay back down, propping me up a bit so that I wasn’t laying completely vertical yet, and he told me to sleep, that he’d get me some water.

I thanked him again, and maybe another time, after he helped me take a sip of water. 

He threw me off when he lifted his arm and held it out in front of me.

“Wrap your fingers around my wrist,” he told me, “and squeeze.”

I stared, eyes trying to focus, but I was too confused to follow.  My fingers were too shaky.

Hawke guided me through it; he pulled up my right hand, which had been wrapped up tight in my blanket, and folded it around his left wrist, squeezing my fingers gently with his right hand when I didn’t immediately grip onto his wrist by myself.

Somehow he got me to hold on, and then I was squeezing, and I focused on the feeling of his skin, and the bone, and how it was too big for me to wrap my hand all the way around so that my fingers were touching. 

“When we would be on the run, hiding out for the night in a place we didn’t know,” he explained, just sitting there with his left arm held upright for me to hold onto, “the twins and I used to be so scared, of just about everything.  But my father taught me that, so long as you have something to hold onto, we would be fine.”

“Later on, he said he got it from the Circle.  When the Templars were out for blood, and the mage simply trying to learn their craft, all one would have to do is hold onto that staff and remember that it protects before harms.  Bit too poetic, don’t you think?” he asked with a small laugh.

“It helped me though,” he went on, still quiet, “when I was five, and the barn we were holed up in looked more like a dungeon than a place full of horseshit.  Still helps me today, anytime I need to remember what is real and what is not.  That fear does not rule over me.”

I wrinkled my nose, but the tears were falling anyways, and I didn’t know what to say to that so I didn’t say anything at all.  But sometimes, when I think of how scared I am or how lonely, I remember the feeling of the little bumps of Hawke’s wrist underneath the pad of my thumb and on the tip of my index finger, and then I remember the soft look in his eyes and the careful way with which he spoke to me, and my heart swells, because to have someone care so much to do that for me…

It means a lot.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the last one got ... heavy. but in my defense i wrote it at 4 am while sleep deprived ToT
> 
> i'll have the other prompts yall gave me from the last chapter's comments up soon! i just have to edit them :)  
> thank you for the prompts you guys!!


	12. prompt: Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's what i got for the prompt on Fitz & reading!!

“Are you _reading_ that?”

“No, I’m making love to it.”

Fitz glanced up, sending a scathing look in Anders’ direction, as the man stared at him with raised brows from all the way across the room.  The mage just snorted. 

“Not that you would know how,” he said brusquely, before moving back to his question, “What I _meant_ , is that I didn’t know you could read.”

“Well, obviously I can.”  Fitz shook his book a little, looking at Anders as if he thought the man were outrageously stupid.

“Where’d you learn?”

“Um, excuse me, I’m reading.  So, can you, like, not talk to me?”

“Oh, really – how about you get the hell out of my clinic, you little ingrate,” Anders retorted, pointing at the wall that sectioned off his clinic, beyond which lay the door.

Fitz groaned, stretching out obnoxiously on the cot he’d commandeered as he protested Anders’ order.  “Dude, let me live.  I didn’t do anything to you –”

“You’re being rude,” Anders said firmly, “I asked a simple question.”

Fitz sat up, sending a glum look at Anders, who remained seated at his desk.  The only response Fitz’ pout got was in the form of the mage leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised even higher than before as if to propose a challenge.  Fitz scowled, before caving.

“Jeez, I dunno, man.  I learned when I was a kid.  At school.”

“School?”  Anders looked confused, and Fitz hesitated, trying to wrack his brain for a way to make his school experience seem normal.  “You were educated?”

“Yeah, totally.  Back home, uh, I had this neighbor who was, like, really smart, you know?  She taught all the neighborhood kids how to read and do math shit.”  Fitz grinned, feeling quite proud of what he’d come up with, but that feeling sank when Anders started smirking too.

“Is this the same home that doesn’t believe in alienages or proper grammar?”

Fitz scowled.  “You guys don’t believe in proper grammar either, asshole.”

Anders laughed, and finally turned his gaze away from Fitz.  Standing up, the mage began the daily task of cleaning up the mess from a long day’s work.  Well into the routine by now, Fitz also dropped his book and got up to help.

“You have a point, but that doesn’t change the fact that you go above and beyond with the vernacular, Fitz.”

“Bruh, what you mean?”

“…I’m not answering that.”

Fitz snickered, but his humor ended a minute later when he came across something that didn’t look remotely sanitary.

“ _Dude, the fuck is that_?”

~

It was just another night at the Hanged Man and aside from Aveline and Fenris, who were busy with their own pursuits, the entire gang was sat in their usual corner when Fitz rolled in with a large yawn and a book under his arm.

“What have you got there, Fitzy?” Hawke asked, grinning as the boy took a seat next to hm.  He tried to peek at the book, to see what subject had caught the kid’s interest this time, but Fitz quickly stuffed it under the table, hiding it with his hands and sleeves.  “Oh, a dirty book then?”

“No,” Fitz shot back, stressing the word, “I forgot to put it away when I left the Chantry.  Spill anythin’ on it and the Maker will douse you with holy fire.”

Hawke snorted, “What?”

“Say, Scholar, I’ve been wondering something,” Varric ventured.  He was the only sober one of the group, so his words came out slow and steady in a definite attempt to keep from scaring the boy off.  “Where’d you even learn to read?  You seem pretty damn advanced for someone so young.”

Fitz gave him a deadpan stare, knowing that the dwarf’s words were simply polite for saying that the notion of a literate city elf was amazing in itself.  He was about to answer, probably with some smartass _non_ -answer, when Anders opened his fat mouth.

“Fitz went to a school,” Anders announced drunkenly, proudly referring back to a short conversation from a while ago, which even in his drunken state, the mage knew Fitz would have rather him forget all about that tidbit of information.  “He had a _proper_ education, he did.”

“Dude, you’re fuckin’ drunk,” Fitz ground out.  He wanted to shove the man off his bench, but it seemed like Anders was almost there anyways.  Fitz would’ve been angrier, if Anders hadn’t looked so stupid with that wasted look on his face and alcohol soaking the top of his shirt.  He watched as Isabela sighed, and began the task of wrestling the mug from Anders’ hands.  Fitz stared shamelessly as Bela practically dragged the man from the table, with a singsong, ‘time for dead-drunks to go to sleep’, which Anders incoherently objected to.

“What’d you guys do to him?  And since when does _Bela_ help people get to bed?”  There was no small amount of amazement in his voice, because the sight was truly a first.  Usually Isabela stuck to drawing on Anders’ face when the mage decided to get completely hammered.

“Poor dear had a rough day,” Isabela called out in response, struggling a bit, though her tone still managed to make her sound slightly devious.

“You’re not denying Blondie’s words then?” Varric questioned, ignoring the scene behind him as Isabela got the mage to the staircase that led up to the private rooms.  Instead, the dwarf leaned in with a toothy grin, effectively blocking the humorous sight from Fitz’ eyes.  “Now, I gotta hear this.”

“There’s nothin’ to hear,” Fitz shrugged, reaching out a hand to snag Hawke’s ale and failing.  “I had a smart neighbor.  Physically pained her to see a child go without learning to read.  So what.”

“Many do not get that chance, Fitz,” Hawke said, sipping his ale and looking at the boy next to him with a contemplative expression.  “In fact, many elves never –”

“Yeah, well, I never hung around elves anyway, so whatever,” Fitz snapped, momentarily losing his temper with the topic.  He regretted his words a second later, but by then it was too late.

Merrill’s eyes were wide when she brought her face in close to Fitz’, having been sitting on the other side of him this entire time.  She was clearly very surprised.  “Fitz, what are you saying?  How could you not be with your own people?”

Fitz cringed, and tried to backtrack.  “Uh, there weren’t…many of us.  Just alotta humans.”  Hawke started snickering under his breath, so Fitz threw an elbow at him before viciously adding on, “Damn _shems_.” 

Hawke elbowed him back, and Fitz retaliated, but Merrill broke them up before the mock-fight could escalate.

“Fitz, that’s awful,” she sympathized, face saddened enough that it made Fitz feel overall uncomfortable.  “What kind of city –”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Fitz said, bobbing his head reassuringly and grinning for good measure.  “That’s just how home was.”  He let out a rather strained laugh, absentmindedly noting Isabela’s return from the arduous task of depositing Anders onto an empty bed.  “I see more than enough elves these days, so it doesn’t matter.”

“And shems,” Hawke added, the word rolling off his tongue in a weird way as he didn’t often say it.  “Tell me, Fitzy, isn’t that your friend over there?”

Fitz looked in the direction of Hawke’s nod, and he found both Sovin and Garrus huddled around the bar, looking more like truants than patrons. 

“Oh, god, what are they doing,” Fitz sighed, quickly moving to escape from the table.  “They’re gonna get in trouble lookin’ that sketchy – I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

Fitz barely even finished speaking before calling out to his friends from across the room.  The two elves turned immediately at the sound of Fitz’ voice, tension leaving their bodies at once as they welcomed him into their fold, much like how the tension left Fitz’ shoulders as soon as he’d said his rushed goodbye.

“You know, we’ll never get answers if you keep giving him outs,” Varric grumbled over his mug, not quite giving Hawke a look of reproach, though it was a close one.

“Oh, give him a break,” Hawke replied, rolling his eyes.  “He was too tired for those games anyway.  It would’ve been very cruel of you to torture him like that.”

Merrill frowned, a question in her eyes.  “But, we were just talking.  We weren’t playing a game, Hawke.”

Isabela laughed as she finally brought herself into the conversation.  “Kitten, you were poking at the boy’s soft spots.  You got him all defensive.”

Merrill’s frown deepened.  “I don’t think he has soft spots.  He’s really very bony, Bela…”

The two women shared a laugh, and Hawke was only marginally certain that Merrill’s reply wasn’t serious, but he could never really be sure with her.  He shook his head, refocusing on Varric instead.

“He’ll talk when he’s ready,” he said, voice firm, and the dwarf rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I know when to stop,” Varric countered, raising his hands, “I’m just saying it’s weird, alright?  Kid’s got no background, won’t tell us where he’s from…it’s just _weird_.”

“No, it isn’t,” Isabela drawled, giving Varric an imperious look, “You’re just nosy.  Looking for another story are we?”

Varric let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. 

“Not everything is about a story, Rivaini.  Sometimes I’m just curious.”

From across the bar, a series of noises drew the attention of at least half of the Hanged Man’s patrons as two elves were seen running full-pelt for the door.  A third elf popped up a second later, from the floor, and ran after the first two as another man yelled after them.  Varric turned back to Hawke with a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.

“Too tired, you say?”

~

Fitz was tired, really tired, and that was the only excuse he had for having such a loose tongue.

“I had a teacher once tell me I was throwin’ my life away,” he was saying, curled up on Hawke’s couch with both feet lazily laying across Hawke’s lap, “I mean, she didn’t say those words exactly or nothin’, but I knew what she meant.”

“Where’s this coming from then?” Hawke asked, not quite as tired as his friend.  He was slouched down low on the comfy couch, arms rested behind his head, but he shifted slightly so he could glance at Fitz.

Fitz barely managed to wave a hand as he replied, “Earlier, uh, or the other day?  At the Hanged Man.  When you said most elves don’t get the chance to get educated and shit.”

Hawke made a small noise of acknowledgment, clearly meaning for Fitz to continue, which for once the younger man actually obliged.

“I dunno, just reminded me of her,” Fitz said, too quiet and too still for the relaxed look on his face.  “Bet she’d be laughin’ now.”

“I doubt it,” Hawke said after a short pause, unsure of what to make of Fitz’ sudden bout of sentimentality.  He could tell there was more weight to this conversation than Fitz was letting on, even if the kid didn’t fully realize it himself.  “You’ve done pretty damn well here, wouldn’t you say?”

Fitz snorted, laying an arm across his eyes.  Shaking his head, he said, “Nobody back home would be sayin’ that.  My dad would be havin’ a heart attack if he knew what I do for a living.”

“Why’s that?”

“He wanted me to – to be a _scholar_ ,” Fitz suddenly let out a laugh, hollow amusement ringing through the quiet of Hawke’s living room.  “Get it?  Scholar?  Varric wasn’t too far off with that one.”

“That’s…highly ambitious,” Hawke commented, running through all his previous thoughts on Fitz’ background, just attempting to find some context for this conversation.  All it did was make him realize how little they ever talked about Fitz’ past.  What kind of position would Fitz have to be born into for his father to have such high expectations for his son?  It baffled Hawke, to be quite honest, but since he had no concept of what Fitz’ mystical home was like, except that it must be amazingly different than both Ferelden _and_ Kirkwall, Hawke wasn’t sure he could even begin to theorize on it. 

“I think you would have made a fantastic scholar.  Is that what you wanted?”

Fitz seemed to freeze, though he wasn’t even moving.  The arm laying over his eyes moved to the side, but Fitz wasn’t looking at Hawke; he was staring at the ceiling with a faraway look sitting in his gaze. 

“I dunno,” he muttered, a hint of discomfort in his voice.  Hawke wondered if that meant it was time to backpedal, but his friend wasn’t closing off, so he figured it was alright for now.

“It’s not supposed to be that hard of a question,” Hawke joked, poking fun at the twisted look on Fitz’ face.  “Here, I’ll tell you what I wanted to be when _I_ was younger.”

Fitz finally looked at him, raising his head just enough from the armrest that he could see Hawke’s face fully, which gave Hawke all the reason he needed to continue.

“I wanted to be a farmer,” he admitted, a lilt to his voice that seemed to suggest humor in the idea.  “I thought it was the best thing in the world.  Having a little place of my own, raising animals, growing all the food I could want.  Never having to leave.  It was pretty much all I wanted for a while.”

“All the places we passed through, there were always farmers and it just seemed so…” Hawke shrugged, and continued.  “I suppose I liked the idea of finding a place to call my own, and _staying_ there.  Rough life, though – being a farmer, I mean.  Probably too much work for me.”  Hawke ended his confession with a small flourish of humor, as though he expected Fitz to laugh.  But, Fitz wasn’t laughing, because the idea wasn’t at all ludicrous to him.

Fitz’ face was uncharacteristically soft as he looked at Hawke, who had turned his face ever so slightly away as he was speaking, and, personally, Fitz thought Hawke’s dream sounded pretty damn nice.

“I want that, too,” he said, a small smile growing on his face.

Hawke shook his head, though he was grinning as well.  “No, no.  You can’t latch onto my dream.  You have to tell me _yours_ now.”

Fitz pouted, but Hawke was resolute, and Fitz wasn’t all that against saying it anyways, even if it was a little embarrassing.

He couldn’t very well say that his first dream was to be a professional hockey player, and after that a firefighter, but he supposed he could tell him the last profession Fitz had thought about.

“Pictures,” he blurted out, face flushing slightly.  “I liked taking – I mean, I just liked painting stuff.  Landscapes and buildings, shit like that.”

If Hawke was surprised, he showed no sign of it.  He just smiled and nodded, as if it were a perfectly acceptable idea.  Fitz relaxed, though there was a small part of him that twinged with guilt over the partial lie he’d just told.  It was _photography_ that Fitz liked, but it wasn’t like he could just blurt that out.  Cameras weren’t a thing here. 

It was close to the truth though, and he honestly felt better having said it. 

~

And if Fitz started thinking about living on a farm with Hawke, years into the future, he purged his mind of it before it could even lay roots.  He knew he would like the idea way too much.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the other prompts (one on story telling and another on music!) should be out by the end of tomorrow ! :)
> 
> thanks for reading!


	13. prompt: Storytelling

“Oh, frick.”

Fitz barely held back from cursing, eyeing the tearful child in front of them with something like distaste.  He threw out an arm, catching Garrus in the stomach with a reproachful, “What’d you do that for, dofus?  Look, he’s gonna start crying.”

“I – I’m _not_ gonna cry,” the child retorted, as his eyes welled up with more tears.  He turned his scowl on Garrus next, who at least seemed somewhat contrite for the whole situation.  “You stepped on my picture.  And _ruined_ it.”

The kid held up his muddied drawing, Garrus’s boot-print covering what was probably a family portrait, and the reminder of the destroyed piece of art seemed to renew the kid’s broken heart.

“Oh, Maker,” Garrus twitched, looking around the alienage for any sign of approaching adults, and sort of shrugged when he found no witnesses nearby.  “Fitz will draw you a new picture, kid.  He’ll help you out.”

The kid turned back to Fitz, eyes wide and expectant.

After sending a quick elbow into Garrus’ side this time, Fitz couldn’t help but relent.  “Uh, sure, but later, okay?  I gotta go now.  Um, here,” he dug into a random pocket to fish out a coin, and flicked it at the kid, who caught it quickly, “Reimbursement for our transgressions, and whatnot.  See ya.”

Fitz pulled Garrus along, resuming their trek out of the alienage, and proceeded to berate his friend for pinning that problem on him.

“I get enough shit without gettin’ called out for bullying small children, asshat,” he spat, elbowing Garrus once again.  His friend just laughed, waving him off with a lofty hand.

“Relax, the kid will forget all about this before supper,” was the other elf’s carefree response.  “Now, can we hurry?  We’re late.”  Garrus took the stairs leading up to the gates with a burst of speed, casting Fitz a pointed look as he did so.

“You don’t give a shit about that,” Fitz grumbled, but he quickened his pace to catch up anyways.

By the time they were at the docks, Fitz had forgotten all about the kid and his rather tentative promise.  But, unlike Garrus’ prediction, the kid hadn’t forgotten at all.

~

One day later, as he left Merrill’s early in the morning, Fitz found himself set upon by a small horde of children.

“You _promised_ ,” the same kid from the other day said accusingly when Fitz tried to weasel his way out of the situation yet again, and there was something about the multiple sets of disappointed eyes that pulled at Fitz’ conscious. 

He ended up promising to come back in the afternoon, right after work.  It meant he’d have to sacrifice his reading time at the Chantry, but he was only marginally bummed out about that.

Fitz figured the kids just wanted to hang out with someone older for a change; it was always like that back home anyways.  He could remember some of his neighbors’ kids begging him to teach them how to skateboard whenever they caught him at it, and he usually broke under the pressure back then too.

So, instead of hanging in the Chantry after work that day, Fitz spent the evening surrounded by a group of excitable kids who switched between wanting a picture drawn and wanting to play some fighting game that involved a lot of running.  And dare Fitz even say it, but he wasn’t even having that bad of a time.

Fitz didn’t expect them to start begging for a story, _one of his foreign stories_ (since it was common knowledge that he wasn’t from around here), and at first Fitz flat out rejected the idea.  But, as with that morning, the kids were pretty damn insistent and before Fitz had time to think, a very watered down version of the last movie he could remember seeing was falling out of his mouth.

~

“The dwarf _dies_?”

Fitz shrugged, sitting cross legged while the children sat around him in a messy circle.  They were outraged by the ending of his story, which made him wonder if he should’ve changed it, not that he would’ve known how in the hell to do that anyway.  He wasn’t a goddamned storyteller like Varric.

“So does the darkspawn, and the dragon,” another child came to the story’s defense, eyes bright, “At least the elves survive!”

“I never heard of a story without any humans before,” one kid said, awe in her voice.  “Where were they during all of this?”

Again, Fitz shrugged.  “Maybe the darkspawn got them.  Who cares?”

The children broke into laughter, as a joke at the humans’ expense was always guaranteed to bring humor, and Fitz was happy that the one change he had included into the story was replacing all the humans with elves.  The kids had practically gone wild when the city elf killed the dragon with only a bow and arrow. 

Fitz didn’t want to make a habit of this, he wasn’t sure how many stories he could actually tell that wouldn’t sound totally weird to these kids, but he couldn’t really deny that he had fun with it.  It was a small reprieve, being around people who didn’t have all these ulterior motives and shit, but Fitz appreciated it nonetheless.

~

“She was this badass assassin, killed more than you can freakin’ imagine, but then the time came where she wanted to retire, right?  She fell in love, some other stuff too, but yo, you think her assassin bosses are gonna like that?  Hell no, so they try to off her.  Killed the lover, put her in a coma, but she’s still kickin’ and she wakes up with a fuckin’ _vengeance_ , bro.”

“Rad as fuck, she picks ‘em off one by one – gonna go through the whole organization by the end of this shit – and she’s got crazy moves, yeah?  Kick flips and shit, mad aiming skills,” Fitz mimed holding a gun, almost letting out an enthusiastic ‘bam!’ before aborting the move quickly.  He recovered by simply rambling on.  “I can’t actually remember how it ends, I never seen the last mov – you know, it’s complicated, right?  Haha, I haven’t heard it in, like, _forever_.  I’ll try to remember the ending, but…it’s probably badass.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Isabela said, looking at Fitz with a contemplative expression on her face.  She was frowning slightly, and seemed oddly serious, as she asked, “Who told you this story?”

Fitz shrugged, fidgeting in his seat.  He really wanted to watch the movie now.  “Um, I dunno, just some guy.  Why?”

“No reason,” she replied, seeming to shake away the thoughts plaguing her as she switched gears, full-on grinning once again.  “Figures you’d be into all that gritty underworld lore, sweetness.  I hope you’re not thinking of joining a new trade.”

Fitz scoffed just as Hawke choked on the tea Merrill had dished out earlier.  “Jesus, man, I’m not _that_ desensitized.  Not gonna kill a motherfucker for some cash, what the fuck –”

“Settle down, kitten,” Isabela raised an eyebrow, “My, who knew you’d be so defensive over a few little words.  It’s not like I was _suggesting_ you become an assassin.”

“Better not have,” Hawke muttered, giving Isabela a reproachful look for even saying anything. 

Fitz was laying on his cot across the room from the two of them (three if one were to count Merrill, but she was rifling around in the backroom near her bed and probably hadn’t heard a single word of their conversation).  He perked up slightly when Hawke turned away from Bela, focusing on Fitz with a bright grin that was very contrary to his previous frown.

“Your storytelling is nearly as engaging as Varric’s,” he said, grinning _too_ much, “I especially liked the excessive cursing and unintelligible phrasing.”

“Fuck off,” Fitz said immediately, barely hiding a grin as Hawke let out a loud laugh.  “I’m not good at this shit – _you’re_ the ones who asked for a story.  Losers.”

“Only because we’ve heard so much about your talent for it,” Hawke said back smoothly, sharing a smirk with Isabela that had Fitz sitting up completely.

“From where?” he asked suspiciously, suddenly feeling shifty.

“Merrill said you have the alienage children hanging off your little finger,” Isabela explained, a laugh in her voice, and held out her pinky finger, resting it on her cheek as she smirked at Fitz.  “She said they’ve been following you around like a troop of excitable puppies, all so that they might hear an original Fitz story.”

“My stories aren’t original, they’re one hundred percent stolen,” Fitz rushed to say, as Hawke began snickering.  “Lay off it.”

Isabela raised her hands up innocently.  “I’m just relaying what I’ve heard.  It’s not a bad thing to have a horde of children idolizing you, sweetness.  Though, it is certainly hard imagining it…” she trailed off, giving Fitz a pointed look before adding on, “You don’t seem the type to be good with children.”

Fitz only made a face in response, but Merrill, having apparently clued into the conversation, came to his defense.

“Oh, Fitz is wonderful with the young ones!” she exclaimed, popping back into the room and throwing herself into the chair next to Isabela with enthusiasm.  “You should really see it.  He doesn’t curse, or scowl – not even once!”

“Now you’re just lying,” Hawke deadpanned, shaking his head, while Isabela cooed in contrast.

“That’s absolutely precious,” she said, holding a hand to her chest.

“Oh my god,” Fitz groaned, “I’m leaving, you’re all embarrassing.”

And he did leave, ignoring the taunts aimed at his back except to deliver a rude hand gesture at the two shems in the room.

His face, when they caught sight of him later that day, dared them to so much as look in his general direction.  And, predictably, Hawke and Isabela had to turn away so that they wouldn’t break down laughing, because they had managed to pass by right as Fitz was half-way through a re-telling of _The Emperor’s New Groove_ , which he remembered loving as a kid (though he could barely even remember the whole thing). 

The kids loved those Disney movies though, so he was doing his best.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahah hope you liked the vague movie references  
> this was fun to write, expect more alienage stuff in the future ;p
> 
> thanks for reading!


	14. Holiday Special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little something for the holidays, i had so many ideas but not enough time to write them!

“Whoa.” 

Fitz hesitated in the doorway, hanging a little off of the door as he tried to process what he was seeing.  “Merrill, there’s snow.”

“Eh?  Really?”  Merrill rubbed her eyes blearily, having only just woken up, and wandered over to join Fitz at the door.  “Huh, how odd.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much snow in Kirkwall before.”

The two stood in the doorway for a while longer, watching the snowflakes that were still falling from the sky, seemingly impervious to the cold wind that accompanied it.  When a particularly strong gust of wind blew by, Merrill jolted as if she were suddenly reminded of something.

“Don’t leave quite yet, Fitz.  Stay right there!”

Fitz didn’t move, and he hadn’t been planning on it either; he was just that dumbstruck by the weather. 

There were groups of kids playing in the snow, some throwing and some simply rolling around in the light covering.  In the two years that Fitz had lived here, Kirkwall rarely got more than a dusting, and on most days in the winter, it didn’t even go into negative temperatures.  Fitz was used to biting winds, and more snow than anyone really wanted, so Kirkwall had been an adjustment even though the winters still got decently cold.  To tell the truth, Fitz didn’t miss the snow all that much, but the sight of it still put a smile on his face for some reason.

He almost jumped when Merrill returned, as the woman announced herself by wrapping a long scarf around Fitz’ neck.  Touching the slightly coarse material, Fitz looked down at the dull red cloth before looking back at Merrill’s bright smile.

“There!  You didn’t have a proper one last winter, so I thought you might need one this time around,” she said, fixing the thick fabric, tucking one sleeve under so that the scarf was wrapped snugly around Fitz’ neck.  “Since you are always running around and such.” 

“Thanks,” Fitz muttered, burying his nose into the fabric as his face grew hot.  “Perfect time for it, too.”

Merrill followed Fitz’ eyes back to the door that still stood ajar, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were suddenly filled with something a lot like mischief.

“I’m sure you have time to play before you have to leave for the market.  The little ones would love if you joined their snowball fight.”

As if on cue, snow splayed across the doorstep after one of the kids missed their target spectacularly.  Laughter reached them immediately, but Merrill’s was the loudest.

Fitz made a face, scoffing under his new scarf.  “Yeah, right.  I’ll pass.” Shaking his head, Fitz finally headed out the door, waving goodbye nonchalantly as he did so.

“See you later, Merrill.”

~

“Well, look at you,” Hawke greeted loudly, whistling low for added effect as Fitz’ ears grew hot at the attention.  “Adding some color to your wardrobe, I see.”

Fitz muttered a curse, lowering his scarf a bit so he could talk.  “Merrill gave it to me.”

He hadn’t realized the piece of cloth would stand out so much, though he supposed it was true that he didn’t wear much in the ways of color.  He had a brown tunic that he wore daily, and his army green coat that was so far faded, it looked nearly grey in some lights.  The only pair of trousers he owned were also a drab brown color, faded and patched like the rest of him.  The muted red of the scarf was vibrant in comparison.

“I think it looks good,” Fitz said, feeling the need to defend Merrill’s gift, while also attempting to ward off his own embarrassment at his current fashion state.  He might not have been the best dressed back home, but he was certainly better kept.  Less holes and rushed stitching (and more color, usually).

Thinking about it now, Fitz couldn’t help but wish for a pair of jeans.  He’d even keep the tunics if it meant he could wear denim again.

“I wasn’t saying it didn’t,” Hawke said with a more genuine smile, his playful mocking done for now.  “It suits you well.”

Hawke reached out a hand, pretending to straighten out the scarf while Fitz struggled not to step away.

“What’d you want anyway?” Fitz asked rather than acknowledging the compliment Hawke had just given him.  He looked around, watching the busy stalls and the people rushing around while it still snowed around them.  Hawke had been standing awkwardly by one the largest stalls, the one that sold armor that Fitz never really looked at, but his eyes were on Fitz from almost the moment he arrived. “I still got some stuff to do.”

When it got cold like this, or when the weather decided to take a turn for the worst, was when he got the most business.  There were more messages to deliver around Hightown, and sometimes Lowtown, because nobody wanted to leave their damn houses.  Fitz couldn’t complain, as his pockets were much fuller than most days.

“I was hoping you might help me with something,” Hawke admitted, and it was his turn to look slightly embarrassed.  “As you know, it’s almost time for the Winter Solstice, and with that comes one of our more favored holidays –”

“Get to the point,” Fitz ordered, rolling his eyes. 

Hawke made a face.  “Touchy.  I’m trying to ask if you’d help me pick out some presents for the others.”

Fitz had to physically turn his head away from the women he’d been staring at (he was pretty sure she was about to rob this one vendor blind, not that it was any of his business) in order to properly look at Hawke with a face full of incredulity. 

“What makes you think I’d be any help with that?” he asked, wondering whether Hawke had lost his mind or if he was really that desperate to find gifts for Saturnalia, which Fitz was pretty sure was in a couple of days.  Fitz hadn’t celebrated it the first year he spent in Kirkwall, for obvious reasons, and he hadn’t celebrated it during his second year either, for what he felt were also obvious reasons.

He wasn’t Andrastian, and even though the holiday seemed a hell of a lot like Christmas, Fitz never felt much like celebrating it.  In fact, last year he’d been a downright Scrooge, avoiding everyone and everything rather joining in on any kind of partying.  And there was _a lot_ of partying.  He didn’t feel the same way this year, as the pain in his heart wasn’t as acute, but that didn’t mean he was planning on celebrating it. 

Fitz had a feeling Hawke didn’t realize that, despite his rude behavior last Saturnalia.

However, as Hawke started in on a long-winded explanation, including his thoughts on what each of their friends would want as a gift, Fitz realized suddenly that this would be Hawke’s first time celebrating the holiday without his mother.  And, Fitz knew the feeling of that very well; he had gone through the entire winter of his first year in Thedas, without knowing if Christmas had truly passed or not, and he’d done it without a single family or friend by his side.  He figured, it wouldn’t be right to deny Hawke in his festive mood (Fitz had heard from Merrill that the man was even helping Aveline in the planning of her own solstice party), even if it meant Fitz had to spend the next few hours picking out gifts for people who probably had questionable tastes at best. 

~

Ten stalls, and a trip to Lowtown, later found Hawke and Fitz unwrapping themselves from their layers, and the multiple boxes in their arms, in the foyer of Hawke’s overly large house.  Fitz nudged his dripping boots into the corner next to Hawke’s own pair, before tiptoeing around the melted snow they’d left behind and heading straight for the fireplace, leaving Hawke to deal with the multitude of boxes. 

Bodahn had made sure to leave a roaring fire on, though the man was missing from sight at the moment.  Fitz could tell from the smell in the air that the dwarf was probably making dinner, and his stomach gave a growl at the thought.

“Oh, sure.  Make yourself at home, Fitz.  I’m fine,” Hawke called out, still fiddling around in the foyer.

“My hands are numb,” Fitz called back indignantly, “And I just carried two boxes for you, _in the snow_.  Gimme a break.”

Hawke grumbled, though he evidently wasn’t that put out by Fitz’ whining as he walked past, gifts in tow, to deposit their wares somewhere hidden.  Fitz resisted the urge to heckle him, lest a box make its way towards his head.

It only took a few minutes for Hawke to return, and he immediately joined Fitz by the fire, nudging the younger man over and sprawling out on the rug next to him. 

“If you think it’s cold now, try to imagine what a Ferelden winter is like,” Hawke said, eyeing the way Fitz sat as close as could be to the fire, warming his hands and feet almost greedily.  “This is nothing.”

“Classic northerner,” Fitz grumbled, even though he himself was guilty of being the same.

“Did you forget your geography again, Fitzy?” Hawke asked, sounding slightly amused, and he would’ve persisted in the teasing, if Fitz hadn’t spoken over him.

“So, I think everyone will like what you got them,” he announced loudly, nodding his head along with his words.  “Not bad for one day of shopping.”

“Not bad at all,” Hawke mused, crossing his ankles while propping himself up on two elbows, wiggling his toes before the fire to warm them up.  “And in two days, all of this will be over.  Until next year, that is.”

“Two days?  Shit, that’s soon,” Fitz commented, eyebrows slightly raised.  He still had trouble paying attention to the days, probably because where he was from, one only had to look at the bottom screen of a computer or at the top corner of a phone in order to see the exact date.

“Forgetting the days as well?  You’re on a roll, Fitz.”

“Shut up,” Fitz muttered without any heat, uncurling his legs and subconsciously copying Hawke’s sprawled out state. 

“You know, Aveline’s party is tomorrow,” Hawke informed him, speaking with a slight hesitation to his words.  When all Fitz did was hum an acknowledgment, Hawke continued.  “She told me you never responded to her invitation.”

“Eh?” Fitz scratched absent-mindedly at a spot above his right ear, glancing briefly at Hawke without really catching the meaning of the man’s words.  “I don’t celebrate Saturnalia, Hawke.  I’m not even Andrastian.  You know that.”

“A party’s a party,” Hawke countered with a grin.  “You don’t need to worship our Maker to join in on the festivities.  Merrill’s going to be there.”

“And I bet half of the city guard will, too,” Fitz said with a small frown, cringing at the thought.  He raised a brow when Hawke simply shook his head at him.

“Closest friends only,” Hawke corrected, shifting around so that he was lying on his side, still propped up on an elbow.  “The only guard she’s inviting is the one she fancies.”

Fitz paused, staring at Hawke’s smug face to make sure he heard that right.  “Aveline has a _crush_?”

“She’s in love.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fitz guffawed, swatting at Hawke with one hand.  “No way.”

“Don’t believe me?” Hawke asked with a smirk, “Maybe you should come and see for yourself.”

“Haha.  Very funny.”

“I’m serious, Fitz,” Hawke pressed, tugging on the long end of the scarf that Fitz still had draped over his shoulders.  “It’s not often we all get together outside of a night at the Hanged Man.”

“There will be food, too.  And a lot of it,” Hawke added as an afterthought, knowing full well Fitz would be hard-pressed to say no to free food.

“Why do I feel like you’ll just drag me along anyways?  Even if I say ‘no’ right now.”

“Perfect!  I told Aveline I could convince you.”  Hawke’s grin was even smugger than before, but it faded slightly as his eyes fell down to look at the old tunic Fitz wore.  “I’m certain I can find a shirt that would fit you by tomorrow as well.”

Fitz groaned.  “We gotta dress up?”

“It’s a dinner party, Fitz.  Not a night at the tavern, remember?” Hawke said brightly, as though he thought Fitz should be jumping at the chance to dress nicely. 

“Oh, damn.  I totally forgot,” Fitz began to say, flatly, letting his arms fall so he could lay his back against the floor fully, “I have a thing tomorrow.  An important thing, can’t reschedule.  So sorry.”

Hawke laughed loudly, dropping his hand on top of Fitz’ head and mussing his hair with glee.

“Oh, Fitz.  You’re hilarious.  I just know you’ll be the life of the party.”

Fitz was glaring, but Hawke couldn’t properly see it as he had made sure to flatten a good portion of Fitz’ unruly hair, effectively obscuring half of Fitz’ face in the process.

Fitz just sighed.

~

The shirt Hawke presented Fitz with was red, and it was the same color red as the tunic Hawke usually wore around the house, when he didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything.  It was much brighter than the scarf Fitz now wore, but not in a bad way.  Fitz couldn’t remember the last time he wore something that wasn’t faded with time and excessive wear.  And, it really was a nice shirt too.

A slit fell slightly below Fitz’ collarbones, seemingly just for decoration as there were no strings that needed lacing up around it, and embroidered around that slit was an intricate pattern that wrapped around the collar of the tunic, going around to circle the entire neck.  The embroidery was a golden color, varying in shades, and the overall effect was that the shirt was very eye catching.  Elegant, almost.

Hawke had also provided a belt that was fashioned to match the golden hues, and it hung around Fitz’ waist casually, just slightly crooked.  Fitz had been shocked when Hawke also handed over a new pair of pants, tailored perfectly to fit, but he figured it was better than wearing his worn-out pair with the holes and patches at the knees.  They were tight, and they vaguely reminded him of the skinny jeans he used to wear in middle school, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

He thought he looked pretty good, actually.  And, Hawke seemed to think so too, since his eyes were blown wide when Fitz arrived to the party, an hour late, and with a sour expression on his face.

Aveline’s house wasn’t necessarily teeming with people, but it definitely wasn’t the small gathering Hawke had promised.

Fitz’ rolled with it pretty well, in his opinion.  Instead of a greeting, he just elbowed Hawke in the gut and escaped to the nearest table that was stocked with food and drink, wasting no time in pouring himself the first drink he could find.

~

Fenris was frowning at him, one hand on Fitz’ shoulder to keep him steady while Fitz giggled to himself.  He’d been alright when Fenris had found him, had actually been joking with a woman he recognized as being one of the nicer guards who roamed Lowtown in the evenings, but Fenris was looking at him with narrowed eyes anyway.

“Not a happy elf,” Fitz muttered, unable to keep from snickering when Fenris shot him a squinty-eyed look. 

“Scholar, on a good day, you’re hardly an approachable elf either,” Varric sighed, giving Fitz his classic of raised eyebrows and a wry quirk of his lips.  For his part, Fitz almost gasped in shock, as he hadn’t even noticed that Varric was there.

“And you’re fuckin’ short,” Fitz nearly wheezed with stupid laughter, pulling a face at Fenris because he liked the way the elf’s eyes visibly flattened whenever Fitz did stupid shit, like right now.  Fitz could have mourned, because he knew that if Isabela had been there, she would have made everything ten times worse for the guy.

“As mature as ever, Fitz,” Fenris finally spoke, tone dry.  “How could I have expected otherwise?”

Fitz just shrugged, still grinning even when Varric sighed again. 

“Alright, what have you been drinking?”

Fitz tightened his grip on the goblet in his hand, because Varric had that suspicious look about him like he was thinking of stealing it.  “Water.”

“I don’t recall water being red, funnily enough.”

“It’s Mio,” Fitz countered, defensively.  Taking a step back, and blowing out a breath of air obnoxiously, Fitz started waving a hand.  “Draggin’ me down, man.  I’ma look for Hawke.”

Fitz started walking, absently overhearing Fenris’ muttered comment about his ability to hold alcohol, and began to search around Aveline’s nice house for his elusive friend.

He found Hawke in the kitchen, with Aveline, and it wasn’t because he heard Varric loudly stating that he’d just seen Hawke go in there.

“You’re a liar, Hawke,” Fitz said upon eye contact, stumbling a bit.  “This place is jammed pack, the fuck you lyin’ for – Oh, hey, Aveline.  Nice party.”

“Wine to your liking, Fitz?” Aveline asked, eyes crinkling in a way that showed her own state of drink.  Fitz looked down at the nearly empty cup he held, trying to remember what it tasted like, but all he could recall was gulping it down and trying not to think about it.

“I hate wine,” he said tentatively, and this time he didn’t try to keep hold of his cup when a hand reached out to take it.  He let Hawke inspect it, and didn’t notice him place it on the table behind them.  Instead, Fitz put his hands on his hips and glared at the taller man in front of him.

(He thought he was glaring, but it wasn’t quite angry enough to be called that.)

“I thought we said we’d be straight with each other – heh, I mean, as straight as we can be,” Fitz lapsed into an absurd amount of snickering, covering half of his face with one hand while Hawke looked on in bemusement and Aveline laughed aloud.  The sound took Fitz enough off guard that he paused to look at her, but by that point Hawke was throwing an arm over Fitz’ shoulders and escorting him out of the kitchen.

“How about we go for a walk, sober you up a bit?” Hawke suggested, brightly.  “We don’t want a scene like last time.”

“What scene?” Fitz asked, confusion showing very clearly on his face, not noticing Hawke waving or Aveline’s loud farewell.

“Just trust me,” Hawke answered with instead of explaining, just as brightly as before.

A bit dazed, all Fitz could say was, “Okay.”

~

“Oh, fuck,” Fitz groaned, pressing both hands to his forehead.  “I forgot – wine gives me such a fuckin’ headache.  I get hungover before I’m even fuckin’ sober.”  Hawke laughed, arms folded as he leaned against the wall of Aveline’s house. 

Hawke had led Fitz outside, assuring him that the cool night’s air would make him feel better.  He made Fitz sit down on the cement, encouraging him to drink a good portion of water as well, while he stood over the younger man almost like a bodyguard.  Aveline’s neighborhood was pretty nice; she could afford to live in the safer area of Lowtown, where the houses were bigger and less like the shacks that Fitz was used to seeing on his side of Lowtown.  Still, Kirkwall could never be properly safe, so Fitz wasn’t all that surprised to note that Hawke’s eyes glanced around every few minutes, even though Fitz’ head was trying to do him in.

The water was helping, and if Fitz held perfectly still, he could almost pretend he hadn’t drank any wine at all.

“I just can’t believe what one measly glass does to you,” Hawke joked, and Fitz could hear his grin without even having to see it.  “I suppose it’s a good thing that’s all you had.  If Isabela were here, I’m sure she would have forced a mug of dwarven ale on you as well.”

Fitz shuddered.  “Don’t.”

Hawke’s laugh was nice, Fitz thought, and that was saying something as his head was still pounding a bit.

“I’m just glad I didn’t spill it on your shirt,” Fitz confessed, sitting up straighter now that he didn’t quite feel like dying.  “I bet it’d never come out.” Hawke shrugged. 

“We would have found a way,” he said confidently, casually glancing down at Fitz.  “And the shirt is yours.  To keep, that is.”

Fitz looked up, eyebrows raised. 

“For real?” he asked, one hand lowering from his forehead to subconsciously grasp at the material.

“I got it for you,” Hawke said, returning his eyes to the streets, scanning them thoroughly.  Fitz got the sense that he was embarrassed by something, or at least feeling awkward, so he decided not to make a big deal out of it.

“Oh, cool.  Thanks,” Fitz said casually, picking up the cup of water that had been sitting next to him.  He drank the rest of it slowly, and sighed with relief when he realized that his head wasn’t attempting to break anymore. 

“I don’t think I got to mention it,” Hawke began, the hesitation in his voice drawing Fitz’ attention, “But, you look very nice tonight.  You look more like a noble than I do.”

Fitz snorted, latching on to the slight humorous tilt in Hawke’s last comment. 

“Yeah, okay,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“I mean it,” Hawke rushed to say, sounding serious enough that Fitz had to paused yet again.  “You look…great.  Red really is your color.”

Fitz stared, but Hawke wasn’t looking back for once, and he didn’t really know what to make of it.  So, he decided to make a joke of it.

“I look good in any color,” he said, making sure to sound extra conceited.  Hawke laughed, but didn’t poke fun at him in return, which he usually jumped at the chance to.

Fitz was so confused, and suddenly he figured he’d had enough of fresh air for one evening.

“I think I’m good.”

Hawke turned his eyes away from the shadows around them, and Fitz realized that, when he stood up straight, he was nearly eye level with Hawke.

“I bet the others are shitfaced by now,” Fitz said, words coming out a bit too quick as it registered that he was staring.  He turned back to the house, to the short set of stairs that led up to Aveline’s front door.  “I wanna see Aveline drunk.”

An eager grin was sent back Hawke’s way, but Fitz didn’t let himself focus on the other man.  He just led them both back into the party, determined to make it through the rest of the night without making an even larger fool out of himself.

He didn’t notice, because it wasn’t that odd, but Hawke never left his side that entire night.

~

The next day, while everyone else was feeling the aftermath of a night of heavy drinking, Fitz felt more than fine.  Fine enough, in fact, to properly enjoy the festive mood brought on by Saturnalia.

It was made even better, of course, by the fact that he was surrounded by a few people he was really beginning to feel very close with, even if that closeness sometimes felt negated by the issues he still had trouble facing.  Hawke was usually good at making him forget about those problems, and it was no different during this holiday that was so like the one Fitz used to celebrate.

He didn’t say it in all the right words, but Fitz had a feeling Hawke appreciated his company during Saturnalia, and at Aveline’s solstice party.  And, of course, Fitz didn’t say anything either, but he knew he definitely appreciated everything Hawke had done for him in the past year and however many months; more so than he could even imagine.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, this was so corny wasn't it? oh well, hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> i wish a very happy holiday season to everyone as well!!
> 
> ART!!!!! [ Please look at this beautiful tarot card](https://www.dropbox.com/s/axcqnbk30daw6vc/%5EEEA6EC99F970F52FB45F7CCC23669EAF99E95C5F3FA94A6035%5Epimgpsh_fullsize_distr.png?dl=0) that @happysnowdragon drew for hawtz


	15. A gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i think i was experimenting with a different writing style for the first half lol)  
> this is just two extra scenes i found, both written a while ago, and i decided what the heck lets just post  
> merry christmas !

_9:32_

_

You meet someone for the first time and you don’t think much of it, and it’s not until its four months later, and you’ve got your arm over their shoulders that it really hits you.

They’re not just an acquaintance anymore; they’re not some kid you found in a clinic, talking back to one of your best friends and not even shying away from you even though your reputation often demands it.

In Hawke’s mind, Fitz was a wholly unprecedented addition to his motley group of friends, but it wasn’t an addition that Hawke so much as questioned.  It happened so naturally; Fitz had this way of looking (and acting) so unconcerned about the world around him.  While it was painfully obvious that there was a lot he held back, Fitz wasn’t necessarily the type to keep quiet.  He talked back a lot, and to people he really shouldn’t be talking back to, and he wasn’t afraid to be blunt when he had his mind fixed to. 

Fitz was weird; loud, moody, rude (oftentimes unapologetically so), and unpredictable.  When he was nervous, he’d either ramble or he’d respond with monosyllabic answers; there was no in between.  And yet, despite Fitz’ propensity for avoiding personal inquiries, Hawke found that it didn’t really matter.  After only a short amount of time, he was pleased to realize that he had grown close to Fitz, to the point where he could read the boy like an open book.  And every time Fitz leaned into Hawke’s touch, or even when he would send an elbow into Hawke’s gut, the man couldn’t help but warm inside as he watched the way that Fitz would ease up around Hawke and his friends.  Their friends. 

Every time Fitz failed to hide a smile, each time he didn’t flinch at a raised hand or stiffen at a gentle touch, Hawke could feel himself grow soft with fondness. 

Every single time. 

~

Fitz reminded him of Carver sometimes.  It was the scowl, and the short answers, but the main reason Hawke was reminded of his younger brother was because of the tough front Fitz always put on, the front he basically clung to, even when it was failing.

Sometimes it was Bethany he thought of when he looked at Fitz.  And then, there were others times where Hawke was ready to withdraw the very thought, because Bethy would never say something like _that_.

It always sent a sharp stab through Hawke’s heart when he thought of his little sister, and her death had been so recent when he first met Fitz; he’d been lost.  However, it took a while before Hawke actually even saw the resemblance.  It didn’t seem to be in Fitz’ nature to show his softer side to others, a fact which Hawke realized right away.  But, when he did see it, all he could think was; _Maker, he looks just as Bethy had when we_ – it hurt to finish that thought.

It wasn’t a special gift, and it wasn’t even a special day.  Saturnalia was still months away, but despite that, Hawke had given Fitz a book, seeing as the kid seemed to really like the damned things, and Fitz had responded with an open mouth and a confused face.

“Uh,” he had said, bushy eyebrows hiding underneath his even bushier hair.  “Y-you mean – that’s a…”

Hawke took pity, because seeing Fitz flounder this much was just sad, and it didn’t feel right to hear that tone coming from a kid who cursed more than the dock workers on a good day.  “A gift.  For you to _keep_.”  Hawke had to clear his voice before going on.  “I saw you were reading about Marcher folklore the other day, and thought you might enjoy one on Ferelden.”

Fitz just stared, and Hawke felt a wild moment of panic – had he done the wrong thing?  Was Fitz going to keep standing there or was he going to _say_ something?

Then, slowly, as though he thought to give Hawke another chance to pull it back, Fitz reached out a hand, plucking the small book from Hawke’s grasp with great care.  He stared down at the book’s slightly torn cover (it was a used one – had traveled across the sea with Hawke and his family after their home was lost) and his face held an emotion very much like awe.

“Yeah, I – uh – this is great,” he said, and Hawke could really _hear_ the sincerity in his voice.  And then, Fitz looked up; his eyes were blown wide, and they were oddly bright, as he thanked Hawke for the gift with more enthusiasm that Hawke had ever thought the boy capable of.

He wasn’t gobsmacked, and he definitely wasn’t at a loss for words when greeted with the sight of an openly appreciative Fitz.  He was just…a little surprised.

~

_9:34_

~

Hawke didn’t see Fitz leave.

He’d been busy; there were letters to respond to as nobles and commoners alike requested his personal help with random quests that were sure to be just as odd as the people he meets on a daily basis, and far more complicated.  It seemed like all of Kirkwall were coming to him for help these days; Hawke actually had to start learning names.

It wasn’t until Fenris placed a cup of hot tea next to Hawke’s elbow that he finally realized the time.

“It’s that late already?” he said partially to the ceiling, and blearily rubbed at his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, hands stained with ink that he only belatedly realized was there.  Hawke groaned, popping his back, and picked up the tea Fenris had graciously given him.  “When did the others leave?”

“A while ago,” Fenris answered, offering only a short shrug to go with it.  “Isabela and Aveline fought all the way out the door, and you didn’t even stir.”

“Oh, shame,” Hawke muttered insincerely, sipping his tea.  “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Of course –”

“Wait – did Fitz leave?” Hawke asked, straightening up suddenly and turning around to look out at his living room, as if expecting to see a mop of brown hair floating about somewhere.  “I was going to walk him –”

“He fell asleep in the library hours ago,” Fenris replied, stepping back as Hawke stood up.

Hawke nodded, giving Fenris an odd look.  “You checked in on him?”  There was a small smile playing on his face, mostly hidden by the cup he still held.  

Fenris didn’t scowl, but he did roll his eyes instead. 

“He’s been avoiding us lately, and from experience, that usually means there’s something he’s trying to hide.”  Fenris’ tone of voice was sarcastic, but Hawke caught the seriousness lying underneath all the same.  It sobered him a bit, but he preferred not to let it show.

Adopting a goofy grin, probably emboldened by his need for sleep, Hawke made it a point to cup his drink carefully in his hands as he headed for the stairs.  “Perhaps we should check again?  Wouldn’t want to find him buried beneath stacks of books.  If he’s drawn in Anders’ manifesto again, I’ll strangle him.”

Fenris sighed, but followed nonetheless.

“Oh, that _would_ be tragic.”

~

Hawke expected to have to look; Fitz’ love for small nooks and crannies was well known and had been for a while now, but as luck would have it, Hawke’s eyes landed on the boy immediately. 

And then he just as quickly looked back at Fenris, eyebrows raised, while the other man stared past him resolutely.

“Where did he get a blanket, I wonder?” Hawke thought aloud, hoping to see Fenris squirm but not at all expecting it.  “Say, Fenris, have you –”

“He likes being bundled up, does he not?” Fenris retorted, refusing to let Hawke continue.  As if that settled it, Fenris crossed his arms and remained leaning in the doorway while Hawke wandered closer to the table Fitz had occupied. 

Fitz was indeed sound asleep, one side of his face resting on an open book, probably drooling on the pages.  His hair fell in a mass of long waves, hiding half of the small amount of his face that Hawke could see.  Hawke recognized the blanket as being the one that usually rested downstairs, for when the drafts would necessitate it.  It was large and thick, and Fitz had clearly adapted quickly to its presence; he had an arm wrapped up tight with the material, resting said arm right next to his head.  In all, Fitz just looked like a vaguely person shaped lump of a blanket, with only his messy brown hair and the tip of his nose sticking out.

“I suppose we should wake him,” Hawke said slowly, as if he hadn’t just been staring at Fitz with a soft smile, making no move to wake him. 

Fenris paused, but replied, “Must we?  I was finally beginning to recover from a headache.”

“Well, I don’t fancy having him wake up in my arms on the way to his room.  Can you imagine the fit he’d throw?”

Hawke reached out a gentle hand, brushing some hair back and away from his friend’s eyes.  There was a fading bruise on the boy’s temple, which made Hawke’s gut wrench even though he knew it was there, but Fitz’ face seemed calm enough; peaceful, even.

“You care for him a great deal.”

Hawke didn’t startle, but the statement, and the way Fenris had said it, caught him off guard.  He ran his fingers through Fitz hair, as if fixing it, and the boy didn’t move, not even when Hawke had to work through some knots.

“Of course I do,” he said after a short moment.  “He’s like family.”

Fenris didn’t say anything to that, but Hawke knew what he was thinking. 

_He’s more than that._

And, Hawke supposed, Fenris was right.

~

Fitz had come barreling into Hawke’s life, quite literally, and while the boy seemed wary at first, almost uninterested, Hawke was always able to get the kid to forget about the surly act he seemed so inclined to put on.

Of course, from the moment he first saw Fitz in Anders’ clinic that one night, Hawke found himself running into the kid again and again.  And, being Hawke, he had to pick up another stray, or, at least, that’s how Varric likes to explain it.  Hawke just really saw a lost kid, asking for trouble with nearly as much lip as Hawke himself, and it tugged at his heart strings. 

He just didn’t expect to get so damn _invested_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized im so bad with making it clear where these chapters lie on this story's timeline...pls forgive me
> 
> ART:  
> [ tarot card!! that i am in love with!!!](https://www.dropbox.com/s/axcqnbk30daw6vc/%5EEEA6EC99F970F52FB45F7CCC23669EAF99E95C5F3FA94A6035%5Epimgpsh_fullsize_distr.png?dl=0) by @happysnowdragon


	16. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Junnesejer asked for some reactions to Fitz' leaving Kirkwall! this isn't my best, so please go easy on me lol

Varric found him on the docks

Fitz had been making himself scarce these days, and he was being more distant than he’d been in a long while.  He had gotten into the habit of slinking away ‘unnoticed’ from the Hanged Man on most nights, before he stopped showing up altogether, and then it was becoming even rarer to find the kid out on the streets.  And, when one did find him, they were lucky to even get a ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ from the kid.  Varric had let this go on for more than a few weeks before he decided a talk was in order, and that was only because he had been too busy to go out and catch Fitz in the first place, what with everything that was going on at the moment.

“Ah, taking a break, Scholar?” Varric greeted when he was within earshot, raising his voice above the noisy sailors and the crashing sounds as waves fell against the rocks below.  “Fancy seeing you all the way out here.”

Fitz raised his head, eyes darting over to Varric as if surprised.  All he said was ‘hey’, in that faraway voice he’d adopted a few weeks ago, and that was enough to make Varric frown.

He was sitting nearest to the shore with his legs dangling high above the water, away from the commotion of workers loading up cargo onto the ships that lined the harbor.  Varric hesitated for a moment before dropping down next to the kid, fitting himself in between Fitz and the piling next to them.  Varric will always hate the sea, but the docks he could stand.  In small doses.

“Is this where you spend all your time now?” Varric asked, looking around.  The docks were always crowded up until sunset, which was soon, and by nightfall the place would be deserted except for thugs and other unsavory sorts. 

Fitz shrugged, head tilted like he was thinking.  Varric let him, content with continuing his observation of the docks rather than bombarding Fitz with questions.  That course of action rarely ever worked out in his favor.

“I used to live by the ocean,” Fitz said simply.  “Kinda.”

“Remind you of home then?” Varric surmised, nodding his head as if Fitz had made all the sense in the world.  Emboldened by Fitz’ answering nod, Varric went on, “Yeah, I get that.  You been thinking about home for a while now?”

Fitz shrugged, and Varric could see the slightly pinched look crawling across the kid’s face and knew he said the wrong thing.  Before he could backtrack, Fitz was already speaking.  And, surprisingly enough, he wasn’t making some excuse to leave.

“I just meant that the water’s relaxing, that’s all,” he told Varric, and the fact that Fitz’ voice didn’t carry a guarded edge (which usually followed when the past was brought up) was rather impressive.  Fitz didn’t have the best temperament at times, as Varric had witnessed on multiple occasions.

“I understand,” Varric replied easily, turning his eyes away from the kid and onto the water below them, “I don’t agree, of course, but – to each their own, right?”

Fitz’ smile was small, and that seemed to be his response in lieu of anything verbal. 

The ensuing silence was comfortable, to an extent, but Varric’s mind was sifting through possible routes, weighing the pros and cons of everything he wanted to say, and he was so concentrated, Varric almost didn’t register it when Fitz broke the silence for him.

“Do you think Isabela’s coming back?”

Varric almost tensed, like they all did when the pirate was mentioned, or almost mentioned.  They usually kept to making vague references if she came up, and tried not to talk about her directly; it was just better for everybody.  Less fights that way, and it was easier on Merrill.

“Anything could happen,” Varric said diplomatically.  Personally, he thought Rivaini was long gone, and they all knew she wasn’t the type to look back.

“Merrill thinks she will,” Fitz’ tone was challenging, and Varric could feel the kid’s eyes on him for once, but, in all honesty, he didn’t know what the kid wanted him to say. 

“Do _you_ think Rivaini’s gonna come back, Scholar?” Varric asked, turning the question back around in hopes that the topic would end.  Fitz frowned, and shrugged.

“Merrill knew her best, yeah?” he said, kicking a leg out straight and enjoying the burst of air that flew up the ripped cuffs of his pants.  “So, Merrill’s probably right.”

“What’s got you thinking about Rivaini anyway?” Varric ventured to ask, grinning lightly.  “You’re not missing your dagger lessons are you?”

Fitz visibly shuddered, and almost laughed aloud as he denied it.

“Yeah, no fuckin’ way,” he said, shaking his head. 

A commotion in the distance caught their attentions, both of them tensing, ready to jump up.  Varric could see Fitz’ hand going for the dagger that he kept hidden at his side, and Varric didn’t know if he felt proud or sad about that.

A small group of qunari were walking across the street, a good few feet away from where Varric and Fitz sat, presumably heading back to their compound.  The noise had been made by the other people in the area as humans and elves alike nearly broke their necks trying to get out of the qunaris’ way.  Presumably, someone did break their neck, if the huddle of humans attempting to pick another out of a crate meant anything. 

No words were shouted, and the qunari didn’t even look around at the scene, not even when some guy basically jumped into a crate to get out of their path.  Eyes were averted, and the air in general was very tense.  Varric exchanged a glance with Fitz, and the kid’s eyes were narrowed.

Everything remained quiet, aside from a few murmurings, until the qunari were gone from sight, and then, slowly, the normal din of the area was back, but there was an undercurrent of the previous tension still lingering, as well as the beginnings of what felt a lot like hostility.

“Fucked up,” Fitz muttered to himself first, before turning to look at Varric, his face utterly serious.  “This city’s goin’ to shit, isn’t it?”

“Well, that would mean the city wasn’t already in some shit, wouldn’t it, Scholar?”  Varric’s grin went unreturned, but it was worth a shot.  The dwarf sighed, before continuing.

“Everything is gonna be fine, kid,” Varric assured, almost reaching a hand out to pat Fitz’ shoulder.  “This kind of thing happens all the time, you know that.”  Fitz’ dry expression told Varric that the kid hadn’t bought that at all, but it was the best he was going to get.

“So, every time someone brings up the topic of the qunari, you guys change the subject for – what?  No reason?” Fitz snarked.  “Bullshit.”

“You got something to say, Scholar?” 

Judging from the look on the kid’s face, he had a lot to say.  If he was going to actually say it was beyond Varric’s ability to guess.

Fitz pursed his lips, looking conflicted, but his anger must’ve won out because the next thing he said was, “I’m not stupid, you know?  I can tell when there’s shit you’re not telling me.”  Fitz’ shoulders were near up to his ears, and the disgruntled look on his face told Varric that he wasn’t done either.

“I hate how you guys leave me out of everything.  It’s fucking annoying.”

“We don’t leave you out of everything,” Varric sighed.

“Yeah?  So, you all just _forgot_ to tell me you're goin' outta the city soon?” Fitz said it in a throwaway tone, but there was no mistaking the accusing edge that was there as well.  Varric paused for a moment, caught off guard.

“Where did you hear about that, Scholar?” he asked rather than answer.  Their upcoming trip wasn’t something they talked much about in public, let alone to the kid who probably wanted to come along, danger be damned.

Fitz scoffed, turning away.  “You guys think I’m a helluva lot more unobservant than I actually am.”

“Apparently,” Varric agreed, somewhat awkwardly.  “It wasn’t something we wanted to advertise.  We weren’t exactly expecting this trip, you know.  Hawke has people asking him to fix all their problems daily, and they don’t exactly react well to an, ‘I can fit you in my schedule in four months’ time’.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Alright, what’s the problem, Scholar?  It’d be best if you just let me have it, you know I can’t read your damned mind.”

“Maybe I’m just a little sick of being kept in the dark all the time?  Or, maybe, it’s because I’m nineteen fuckin’ years old and you all just keep calling me ‘kid’?  Maybe, if Hawke didn’t think –”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up at the abrupt cut off, watching as Fitz’ face darkened slightly.  Varric continued to watch as Fitz scowled at the wood beneath them before pulling his legs up and jumping to his feet.  Varric followed suit, perhaps a bit less gracefully, and then hesitated.  It was an easy thing, to push too much and too far with Fitz, and while Varric felt he had a pretty good grasp of Fitz’ limits, he also knew the kid liked to fly off the handle at the drop of a hat.

Fitz didn’t storm away like Varric thought he would.  In fact, the kid was paused as well, facing the opposite direction, probably scowling if Varric knew him at all. 

“It’s getting old, is what I’m tryin’ to say,” Fitz finally continued, sighing as if he were trying to swallow his anger.  “I’m nineteen, not five.”

“Hawke’s protective, you know that,” Varric said carefully, before letting his tone drop into one that was a little more light-hearted.  “We all are.  Can’t blame us for that.  I mean, if something happened to you, can you imagine what it’d do to Daisy?  Shit, kid, I’m not risking that.”

Fitz looked back at Varric briefly, but let his head drop before their eyes could meet.  His hair was getting long again, even though it felt like Anders had only just cut it. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, in true Fitz fashion.  Varric almost groaned.

All Fitz gave before walking away was another mutter, which Varric assumed was a goodbye, and this time Varric didn’t follow.  He could clearly see that the kid was done talking, and it would be pointless to try and get anything out of him when he got like that.  So, Varric let him go.

 

* * *

 

Merrill didn’t notice anything was amiss until two days after Hawke and the others left for the coast.  Her house was quiet, oddly so, but she took no note.  She was planning to work on her eluvian that day and there was not a sound or distraction strong enough to take her attention away from it.  However, when she took a break to eat on that second day, Merrill noticed that Fitz wasn’t there.

She checked the time once, and then twice, and thought for a moment before she was certain that Fitz was usually home at this time.  Sometimes, he would go out with his friends or he’d be on a job for Athenril, but he hadn’t mentioned anything the last time she saw him.  Still, Merrill wasn’t all that worried yet.  Fitz often went places without telling anybody.  Merrill knew this because it drove Hawke off the wall, which she had a feeling was Fitz’ intention to begin with.

It was on the third day that Merrill began to worry.

She woke up early that morning, and her house was still silent, the only noise coming from the apartments around theirs.  Usually, she woke to the sounds of Fitz dropping his boots or cursing as he rushed around to get ready.  When Merrill went over to his little corner of the living room, she couldn’t help but tidy the blanket, which was thrown haphazardly across the cot.  Fitz’ jacket was bundled up at the head of the bed, like a makeshift pillow, and that wasn’t odd as the days were much too warm for multiple layers.  There were no other signs that Fitz had been there; his bag was gone, which made sense as he never went anywhere without it, and all that was left of his were the little knick-knacks under the bed.  Even the journal he sometimes wrote in, when he thought no one was looking, was gone.

Merrill figured it was at least two days since Fitz had last been there, which was a worryingly long time seeing as the last time Fitz disappeared, he was gone for a week and came back covered in blood.  And he’d been arrested.

A trip across town was in order.  Both Aveline and Varric kept tabs on Fitz’ whereabouts, and since Varric was away, there was only Aveline to talk to.  For his sake, Merrill hoped Fitz wasn’t up to trouble.

Giving a little pat to Fitz’ bed, Merrill tried to shake the worry from her mind, reassuring herself that Aveline knew where the boy was.

 

* * *

 

Aveline didn’t know where Fitz was, and none of her guards had seen him either.

Merrill’s worry grew, but at least she had someone to share it with now.

 

* * *

 

The first person Aveline asked was Fitz’ friend, a quiet elf whom she rarely ever saw making trouble, unlike Fitz’ other friends.

The boy was probably a year or two younger than Fitz and as Aveline looked down at him, there was no missing the nervous demeanor he wore, though that did not seem out of the norm for him.  He was shifty, and looked dead scared when she approached him in the alienage the morning after Merrill had told her Fitz was missing. 

“You’re Sovin, right?” Aveline asked, trying not to tower over the elf, even though it was impossible.  “You’re a friend of Fitz?”

“I am,” Sovin replied, a bit hesitantly.  Aveline watched as his eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at her.  “Why?  He hasn’t done anything.”

Aveline smiled, grimly.  Sovin’s statement sounded more like a question.  “I’m not here to accuse him of any misdeeds this time.  I am looking for him, however.  Have you seen him around?”

Sovin shrugged, and he looked even shiftier.  “Not lately, no.”

Aveline raised an eyebrow.  “You have no idea where he is?  Merrill said he hasn’t been home in quite a while.  She also told me that the two of you hang out together every day.”

The kid’s eyes were on the ground now, and he was biting his lip.

“He could be in trouble, Sovin,” Aveline pressed, sternly.  “Do you remember the last time Fitz went missing?”

That did it.  The elf broke, and suddenly he had a lot to say.

“He was selling some things a few days ago, running around talking to merchants and all that,” Sovin said, quickly.  “And he’s been at the docks more often than not.  Talking to sailors, and ship captains.”

“What more do you know?” Aveline asked urgently, though it came out more like a demand rather than a question.

Sovin looked away again, and there was no mistaking the sad frown on his face.  “I went to the docks two days ago.  Our neighbors were leaving and me and my sister wanted to say goodbye.  I saw Fitz there, too.  Saw him get on the ship.”

There was a moment of shock, of pure amazement, which quickly turned into controlled panic as Aveline’s mind went through all possible courses of how to fix this situation.

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

Hawke returned a few days after that.  Aveline wished she didn’t have to be the one to tell him, but Merrill was a mess and there was no one else who could do it.

It went about as well as one could imagine.

 

* * *

 

Isabela had been back for a good week before she decided she’d had enough.

“Alright, where’s the brat?” she asked, looking each person in the eyes as they sat around their usual table at the Hanged Man.  Hawke wasn’t there, which was the main reason why Isabela asked.  He was most likely with Aveline, whose side he had not left since the siege, and he was probably just as distant as he'd been when she first came back to Kirkwall.  Isabela said nothing, of course, because she had enough common decency not to beat a man while he’s down, and it was clear from the moment she returned that Hawke was not himself.  Her common sense told her it had to do with a certain missing elf.

Isabela watched impatiently as the others exchanged awkward glances before continuing, with an annoyed huff.

“I haven’t seen him crawling around with the other gutter rats, nor has he been around here.”  She leveled them all with an unimpressed stare, and went on, “I’ve seen enough to know that something happened while I was gone.  Care to clue me in?”

“Thought Merrill would’ve told you,” Varric muttered into his mug.

“Kitten and I have been taking it slow,” Isabela drawled, though she had tensed a bit.  “I’m giving her space.”

“I quite forgot to tell you,” Merrill interjected, sounding regretful.  “We’ve been all very busy, with not talking about Fitz and…other things.”

Kirkwall had been under siege only a week ago, so it made sense that it had taken them so long to tell Isabela about all that she had missed.  The streets were still a mess, and people were still reeling from the disaster.  Hawke, of all people, was helping with damage control, making it so that he rarely saw outside of the Viscount’s estate.  And they all knew he wasn’t happy about it.

“Fitz ran away.  To Ferelden,” Fenris told Isabela bluntly.  “Do _not_ bring this up near Hawke.”

“As if I would be so crude,” Isabela retorted.  “To Ferelden, you say?  What in the Maker’s name would make him go there of all places?”  Her tone was scornful, in that blasé way of hers, but there was also confusion in her voice.  The reason for Fitz’ departure eluded her, just as it eluded everybody else.

“Who can say?” Anders grumbled, taking a deep swig from his mug.  He looked tired and worn out, but he still felt angry, for Hawke’s sake.  It was easy to tell that the man clearly hadn’t gotten out of the shock yet.  And the heartbreak.  “It’s not like we really knew him.”

“Harsh, Anders, and completely uncalled for,” Merrill reproached, frown heavy on her face as she looked over at the disdainful mage.  “Fitz is a dear friend, and he has been for years.”

“You don’t know a single thing about him,” Anders scoffed.  “Everything he ever told us was a bunch of lies.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’ve been honest your whole life?  Like the rest of us, hmm?”  An angry Merrill was a rare sight, as was hearing that cold tone in her voice.  “Fitz shared with us what he could, and you know words are hard for him, so I’ll ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself, since none of them are kind anyway.”

Anders just scoffed again, and got up to leave.  They watched him go, and Isabela couldn’t help but think that he was much grouchier than usual.  She would have commented on it, but she was still taking in the sight of an angry Merrill.

“It’s the stress of the past weeks,” Merrill explained, wide eyes turned to Isabela, her anger running out.  “I’m sure he’ll settle down soon enough.”

“Doubt it, kitten,” Isabela said, giving a small smile.  “He can go sulk by himself.  Not our problem, is it?”

Merrill nodded, still slightly upset by the small argument.  When she was all composed once again, she brought the topic back to Fitz.

“We don’t know why Fitz left,” Merrill admitted, frowning.  “He didn’t even leave a note.”

Varric explained quickly about what Aveline had found out.  Some kid saw Fitz board a ship headed for Ferelden, without a word to anyone.  It seemed almost impulsive on the kid’s part, and there was no reason they could find for his leaving either.  Except for a fight that happened between Fitz and Hawke a few days before. 

“And that’s really all there is to it,” Varric surmised, shrugging as if the topic did not weigh heavily on him even though the action did not match the expression on his face whatsoever.  “I’ve asked around, and haven’t found any reason that would make Scholar up and run like that.  It’s like the kid just snapped.  He and Hawke had been fighting lately, but…it’s a little drastic to leave an entire country because of it.”

Isabela knew better than most about the need to get out, about the tendency to leave things behind and not look back.  It was a calling that was hard to ignore, even when there were people who cared, or a place that might even be called home.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll send a letter,” Isabela shrugged.  The awkward silence that had ensued after Varric trailed off discomforted her, as did the sad expression on Merrill’s face.  “Eventually.”

There was a short pause, like the entire table had taken the moment to reflect on her words; on what that letter would even contain.  Isabela didn’t let the silence go on for too long, preferring to change the subject completely by suggesting a game of cards.  If she had anything in common with the others, it was the practiced art of avoiding one’s own emotions and thoughts, and a game of cards did wonders to help that along.

Still, Hawke tended to wallow in those emotions, and she wasn’t sure how much of that she would be able to take, even if he was rather exclusive these days. 

Isabela might have came back for Merrill mostly, but Hawke was still a pretty big reason for her return as well.  Not that she’d let him know that.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Hawke wasn’t even given the chance to wallow in his own misery. 

Apparently, being the Champion of Kirkwall had a lot to live up to, but really it just meant that Hawke was running around more than ever, doing this and that for just about everybody.  Which, to be honest, wasn’t all that different from before.

And there was a dragon.  That was pretty distracting.

Despite being too busy to do anything let alone think, every month and every year that went by without hearing from Fitz made a bubble of anger in the pit of Hawke’s stomach grow and fester.  He had enough of feeling sad in his life, and quite frankly, he was tired of it.  After a while, it was easier to be angry.

That anger kept with him all the way up to the battle of Kirkwall, and even beyond that.  He was still angry when all the shit at the Conclave happened, even if it was a muffled and aged sort of anger.  However, that anger was very easily ignited.  There was relief, and absolute fury, when he received a letter from Varric, from many miles away, that the dwarf had been reunited with Fitz once again, purely by chance. 

Hawke found that he was good at being angry, but that also didn’t stop his heart from beating out of his chest when his eyes landed on Fitz, seven years later, as the boy – the man – was kneeling in a pile of books, looking up at him with eyes that were even wider than he remembered and hair that still refused to lie flat on his head. 

As ridiculous as it sounds, there is a phrase that says time apart makes the heart grow fonder, and in that moment when their eyes met inside a cluttered office, Hawke did in fact believe it to be true.

And he was _pissed_ about it.

 

* * *

 

Varric had written enough love stories to know when one was about to begin.  He could see the signs as clearly as Rivaini could down a bucket of dwarven ale in one go; with only the slightest of gags afterwards. 

So, when he noticed the lingering looks, and the faraway ones, he knew immediately that his friend in for it for bad; Hawke had fallen, _hard_.  And, Varric knew exactly who to blame for the push, even if the kid didn’t know it yet.

Hawke wasn’t all that big on romance; he’d never been.  There were always more interesting things to be stuck on, he would say, but Varric knew he was really just shy, in his own way, though it would amaze anyone to hear something so seemingly absurd.  It took longer for Hawke’s interest to go deeper than just curiosity, and Varric couldn’t recall a single time the man went farther than a kiss in the whole time they’d known each other, so it was fair to say that this development came as a bit of a shock.  Perhaps, a big shock, but that’s being generous.

Varric waited a week, and then a month, watching as signs turned into patterns, before admitting to himself that his closest friend had indeed fallen in love. 

It just figured that, of all people, Hawke would fall for the only person more emotionally dense than he was.  And that is certainly saying something, considering the people they ran with.

All in all, Varric had been quite certain that it would all work out, given enough time.  So, he decided that he wasn’t going to get involved; rather, he was just going to sit back and watch the two bumble their way through the throes of love.  Maybe he was hoping it would inspire yet another love story, which he might have published someday (just to annoy them), if only it had not all gone to shit before the two lovers even _became_ lovers.

Varric had watched Fitz just as closely as he had Hawke, and even he couldn’t have predicted the kid pulling a runner, not long after realizing his own damn emotions.  Had Varric expected turmoil?  Yes.  Some denial?  Definitely.  But, total and utter rejection?  Even by Varric’s standards, that was too dramatic, even for fiction.

They only had one clue on the kid’s whereabouts, and that was Ferelden.  On the same day Fitz left, so did multiple ships, but only one left for Ferelden and it wasn’t until the ship returned that Varric could make certain that Fitz had been on it.  It took some talking, and some coins, but he was reasonably sure he got the right answer.

And, of course, Varric would have loved to ask Scholar what in the Maker’s name he was thinking, but the kid apparently knew how to disappear better than any of them could have imagined.  Though, to be fair, Kirkwall didn’t exactly leave a person with much free time, least of all for them, and it was sort of hard to find one kid in a landscape notoriously known for its vast forests and mountains, as well as it’s varying climates (and, by the Maker, he hoped the kid didn’t go far south – did Scholar even know how to survive cold climates, let alone the _extreme_ cold?  Kid didn’t even know how to start a proper fire when they first met him).  Between all that, they didn’t have any hope of finding Scholar; all they could do was worry, wonder, and then move on.

But, Hawke didn’t move on, and none of them could really forget the kid they’d all but adopted as one of their own.

So, the ‘moving on’ part was ultimately a lie, for all of them.

Varric still sent out the occasional word to some of his contacts in Ferelden; ‘look out for a gangly, curly-haired elven youth with a bad attitude, an even worse mouth, and an overly healthy disregard for authority’, was what he put out.  Only once did he hear back, from a questionable source, but when he followed up, nothing came of it.  Kid had moved on, to who knows where.  Varric didn’t tell Hawke as the disappointment would have been too much, but he had a feeling it really was their Scholar.

When they all broke apart and moved their separate ways, they buried Fitz in the ashes of the broken city that had years ago brought them all together.  Varric still had ears out, and there might have been more to Broody’s decision to go south, hunting slavers in Ferelden, though the elf didn’t outright say.  And, even though he didn’t give specifics, Varric still knew Hawke had also gone south for a while during his journeys after leaving Kirkwall, and Varric was pretty sure it went beyond what the Wardens wanted from him.

Varric didn’t know, nor did he care to know, where Blondie had gone, but Rivaini took great joy in keeping a correspondence up, mostly with Daisy, and she had promised the elven woman that she would keep a look out for the boy they once knew.  Varric knew Rivaini probably had the least expectations out of all of them, but she still promised to keep her eyes open for the kid.

Daisy and Aveline were the only ones who stayed behind.  They were too invested in the city, and Varric knew it was because they had come to love it just as much as he did.

In between rebuilding the alienage and caring for those in it, Daisy went out of her way to establish a relationship with as many different alienages as she could manage.  _If he finds home in another city, perhaps we may hear of it_ , she had said.  Varric could remember the frown on her face, and the worry she would not hide.  _He may not want us to know where he is, but he cannot stop us from caring._

Daisy’s face was set into one of fierce determination when she said those words, and she looked as though she had not one doubt in her mind that she would hear from Fitz again.  Her faith never failed to amaze Varric, especially since he wasn’t as certain on the matter as she was.

_Fitz needs time to himself right now, and we should respect that,_ she told him with an air of resolve.  _He’ll come back again, even if it’s just in letters._  

When Daisy had said this, Varric smiled and agreed for her sake, just as he had smiled and agreed for the same reasons when Rivaini ditched them.  He had thought, to himself, that some people were just made to believe in others, to be good like that, but he knew he could not count himself in that category.

And it was Daisy he thought of, and it was that unwavering trust she had for her friends that Varric recalled as he took in the sight of Scholar’s face for the first time in nearly eight years. 

_Well, shit_ , he thought, as a much taller Scholar went pale in front of him, _Daisy was right._

And then it was all a blur of questions and lectures as old anger reignited, because the kid damn well deserved it after all the worry he put them through, but that only made the kid scowl and all Varric could wonder was; _how could Scholar be just as he remembered and yet so different at the same time?  And, Maker be damned, he’d forgotten just how human this kid could look._

Daisy refused to let him keep long hair back when he lived with her, since the kid kept refusing to pull it back.  Anders was usually the one to cut it, as Daisy was prone to produce a rather hack job of it.  But, long hair and all, it was definitely Scholar standing before him; the kid – the _man_ – was just older, more scarred (and, damn could he just imagine the expression on Hawke’s face at the sight), and maybe just a bit quieter.  Quieter in a way that you wouldn’t notice, or even call it that, unless you knew him, and Varric didn’t care what Scholar had to say about it; Varric _knew_ him, and he knew him well.

He still had all the same nervous ticks that kept Varric reminded of the scared kid that Scholar always denied being.  Hand tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck, most likely lying.  Hands folded in front of him, squeezing one finger between the index and thumb of the other hand, probably trying to remind himself to pay attention.  The one tick Varric was absolutely certain about, was that the shaking in Fitz’ fingers meant he was nervous to the point of running, and that meant it was time to back off. 

Varric also knew when Fitz was deflecting (most people did), just like he knew when the kid was being sincere. 

So, Varric had a list of observations, and it was much easier to make it up once he had Scholar stuck in the same room as him in Haven.  The list was mental, of course, but Varric was good at remembering details so it wasn’t an issue.

  1. Scholar still resorts to stony silence when faced with a question he doesn’t want to answer (and that is after one or two attempts to change the topic are made).
  2. Tends to puff out his chest more when threatened, posturing accompanied by the same old scowl. Scowl is also just as commonplace as it used to be.
  3. Seems to make friends easier.
  4. Likes to drink.
  5. Still hates cards.
  6. When he’s drunk, his accent gets even worse and he starts talking weird shit. Doesn’t explain much (when drunk or sober).  And, if he does explain, it’s all nonsensical bullshit.
  7. Refuses to talk about problems (the past), and pretends they don’t bother him. Don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling.
  8. Kid is the very definition of denial. Still won’t admit his feelings for Hawke, not even to himself.



The list goes on, and Varric tells each and every observation he makes to Hawke (minus the love business).  Sometimes it’s a side note at the end of an otherwise short, perfunctory letter telling Hawke that all is good on the Inquisition front.  Other times, it’s a long paragraph.

Regardless of the context, Hawke doesn’t make any note on the topic of Scholar outside of a single sentence, sent right after Varric was first reunited with the kid.  Varric wasn’t going to push Hawke into addressing it, not through letter, but he also wasn’t going to stop giving the man brief updates either.  He knew Hawke appreciated them, even if he wouldn’t admit to it.

They were both being children, he decided.  Hawke was playing the sullen, spurned maiden and Scholar was set on taking the stoic self-loathing act to the grave; it was enough to make Varric think longingly of locking the two of them in a room together until they finally just _talked_ to one another.

That feeling only escaladed after Hawke joined them at Skyhold, and it really did take all of his willpower not to go through with the thought.  As tempting as it was.

But, love never did run smooth and Varric just happened to be born with the natural ability to tolerate bullshit without too much complaining.  He would save that for the weather, and the camping, and the –

The point being made is this; Varric felt, whole-heartedly, that he deserved full honors for putting up with the two of them, and if, by the end of their little spat and pending reconciliation, they did not thank him, from the bottom of their hearts, he would _definitely_ publish their story, and he would make it so embarrassing, even Hawke would be mortified.

Love stories are always a hit with the masses, and Varric knew for a fact that there were many, many people interested in the Champion’s own love life.

It would probably sell like wildfire; starting in Skyhold, of course.

Shit, thanks or no thanks, Varric figured they deserved a lesson anyways (and that’s not just his business’ eye talking).

So, in all, even as Hawke moaned and groaned about Scholar in the tavern at Skyhold, even as the two of the glared at and ignored each other, Varric knew it wouldn’t last forever.  Something had to give.  If the two would just talk to one another, _properly_.  If Fitz would stop avoiding them like the plague and open up to them for once.

There was only so much Varric could do, as it was only partially his business.  And as each day went by, the idea of locking his two friends in a room become more and more ideal, but it did pan out in the end. 

There are some things that only time can heal, that only time can fix, and this whole ordeal was one of them.

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I meant to have a section on Hawke's personal reaction to Fitz leaving, but I need more time to work on that. Since this has been sitting in my drafts for ages now, I decided to just post it and I promise I'll give you guys Hawke's reaction this summer!! I just graduated college (yay!) so I'm gonna take it easy this summer, which means I should have a decent amount of time to dedicate to this story! SOOO I'm planning on rewriting Needs More Salt, especially the Kirkwall Years (and I may alter the time line)! Thanks for sticking with me you guys, this story and the feedback i get have really helped me out during a hard time in my life so..just thank you so much! :))
> 
> i also have some new fanart!! [johnnysu](https://johnnysu.tumblr.com/post/160695523835/needs-more-salt-doodles-of-fitz-and-hawke-i) on tumblr drew some fitz and hawke (and a post-Fade Fitz)!!! and its amazing!!!


	17. Modern!AU: it's a long story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern!AU: It's been a year since Fitz returned to Kirkwall. It's awkward and not at all the same as before, but he's growing and rebuilding some of the bridges he burned back when he left. Fitz thinks everything will be okay, if only he could get over the ex who surely must've moved on by now. Even if the guy still calls him up because he's too scared to get rid of a few spiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this doesn't really belong in the extras since it's not a part of the NMS timeline, because it's a Modern AU! I freewrote this a long, long time ago from a prompt I saw on tumblr about someone calling an ex to take care of a spider in their house
> 
> I really just wanted an excuse to post something :)

“Fitz, I’m not kidding.”

I sighed, letting the phone drop away from my ear slightly.  Even with the space, I could still hear Hawke on the other line pleading with me in that dumb, slightly hysterical voice of his. 

“You know I have this thing with spiders,” he was saying when I brought the phone back up to my ear, “I can’t even go back inside my own home until they’re gone.  They’ve nested, Fitz.  _Nested_.”

“Spiders don’t nest, you idiot,” I grumbled back, only to cringe when he came back at me with more whining.

“This one did, okay?  And its right in my bedroom, too,” he said, voice going a bit high and I knew I was about to cave.  “Just – please?  I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Why don’t you call Varric?  Or –”

“I already did! He laughed at me, and so did the others – yes, I called them, too,” he sighed.  “Like I said, I wouldn’t bother you if it weren’t important.”

I exhaled, not replying yet, and began walking once again, going in the opposite direction of my previous destination.  “The bookstore’s gonna be closed by the time I’m done killing your stupid spider.”

“M – I’ll buy you whatever books you want,” Hawke said exasperatedly, speaking way too close to the phone, “if you just get your ass over here, before the spider kills _me_.”

“Jesus, you’re such a baby.  I’m on my way.  Not gonna book it through the streets for you, just sit on your stoop like a sad asshole for a few minutes, alright?”

“If it was Merrill calling, you’d be sprinting.”  I tried to ignore the glum tone in his voice, sending a glare at some guy who was looking at me weird.

“First of all, Merrill isn’t scared of spiders, so this wouldn’t even be happening,” I spat into the phone, trying to sound angry, “and second, she’d have _adopted_ the fucking spider and its goddamn nest.”

I could practically hear Hawke shudder over the phone, and all of a sudden I was wondering why the hell I hadn’t hung up on him yet.

“You know, I have a feeling you’re –”

“Okay, I’ma block away, see ya,” I said hurriedly into the phone, cutting him off completely, and then hung up, almost before I’d even finished speaking.

“Shit,” I muttered, and a lady with a kid shot me a nasty look.  I returned it, and her taken aback expression got me through the inner turmoil that was talking to my ex as if everything was completely normal between us.

I don’t know why I was surprised, but when I got to Hawke’s giant brownstone, I realized he hadn’t been joking when he said he couldn’t even go inside his own house.

He was sitting on the front steps, leaning back on his elbows as though he were actually comfortable being splayed out on stone steps like that, and he was on his phone, playing a game from the looks of it.

“Well, you look absolutely terrified,” I called out, a bit sullenly.

Hawke straightened up immediately, expression brightening as he caught sight of me.  I wished he wouldn’t smile like that, it made me feel like an asshole.  Well, more of an asshole than I actually am.

“I had to take my mind off things,” he explained, and I knew he was about to be dramatic, “and since _someone_ rudely hung up on me, only games could console me.”

“Cry me a river,” I shot back, and as I reached his steps, he finally stood up, flourishing his arm a little as a gesture for me to head on into his house.  I avoided his eyes, and made certain not to brush against him as I passed by, but since Hawke was just as much of an asshole as I was, he didn’t simply back away to let me pass and I could feel his eyes on me the entire time.

I got to the door, grabbing the knob and turning, but it didn’t budge.  I twisted my head around to stare at Hawke.

“You _locked_ it?”

“Spider warfare is a vicious one,” he explained, squeezing in next to me with his key out, “I took no chances.”

I wanted to curse at him, call him stupid or something, but he was so close to me, it was all I could do to turn my head away instead.  When Hawke finally got it unlocked, pushing the door open with one hand and once again gesturing me in, I practically ran inside.

“Shouldn’t you, like, wait outside?  You know, if you’re so damn scared?” I asked, huffing a little, refusing to look back at him as I walked the familiar path to his bedroom.  Up the big staircase that was right in front of the foyer, to the left and past the room that served as a library, and then it was Hawke’s room.

“I can’t leave you to fight alone,” he told me passionately, and he really was walking too close to me.  I could feel him looming over my shoulder.  “I may be terrified of them, but I would never let you walk into battle by yourself.”

I muttered under my breath, calling him ridiculous, and I might have been too rough when I opened the door to his bedroom, but whatever. 

Hawke pointed out the spiderweb immediately; it hung in the corner of his room, nearest the door, and there was indeed a bundle of eggs at the heart of the web, with a giant, spindly spider sitting right next to it.  I walked up to it, grabbing up a bunch of tissues from the Kleenex box on Hawke’s nightstand, and was just about to get up onto said nightstand and clear away the whole thing, when –

“You’re not actually going to kill it, are you?”

I looked back, staring at Hawke incredulously.  “What the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

He blinked, and I swear to god he shuffled his feet like a third grader who was too shy to ask the teacher for help, and then he mumbled, “Let it go outside?  About five blocks away from here?”

I tried not to inhale to sharply, lest I accidentally choke on my own disbelief, and then turned back to stare up at the spider and her babies.  I think she stared back, but who knows.

“Okay, we really doin’ this right now?” I asked, still clutching the tissues in one hand.  “Fuckin’ A, Hawke, you’re unbelievable.”

He mumbled something else in return, but I couldn’t catch it.  “I’m telling Isabela you made me do this.”

Hawke didn’t reply, accepting his fate and the impending ridicule he was going to face at the hands of our friends, so I went back to clearing his room of all spiders.  This time, with the intent of not committing spider-genocide.

Standing on top of Hawke’s nightstand and using a tissue laid across both my hands, I reached up, cupping the spider and her eggs neatly with it.  She tried to move away when it became clear that I was moving towards her, but luckily I was quicker.

Then, gently hopping off of Hawke’s nightstand, I made for the door quickly, making sure to angle my hands away from Hawke as I passed.

“You owe me,” I muttered to him as my shoulder almost brushed against his chest, since he hadn’t quite moved out of the way like I thought he would when I came by with the offending spiders in my grasp.  I thought he’d be jumping out of the way, but instead he stayed by the door, following me as I headed back for the outside.

“Yes, yes, a thousand books,” he said, and I flushed a little at the gratefulness in his voice, “Free coffee until the end of time, whatever you want, Fitzy.”

I flushed even more at the nickname, and quickened my step.

I deposited the spiders onto a bush a few houses down, telling Hawke that there was no way I would be walking five blocks for some stupid spider.  He agreed, though perhaps a bit hesitantly, and then I was looking at the pavement, stuffing the spider-tissue into the pocket of my hoodie and wiping my hands off on my jeans.

“Well, I better go,” I said, looking up at the sky, “It’s gonna get dark soon.”

I almost made it past him, and I made sure to walk a wide arc around him too, but Hawke stopped me, fingers pulling lightly on the sleeve of my oversized hoodie, right where my elbow was.

“We could go grab dinner,” he suggested, hopefully.  “Go to that pizza place near your building.  My treat, of course.”

I shrugged out of his hold, and he let go immediately. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hawke,” I muttered, taking another few steps forward, stuffing my hands into the pocket of my hoodie this time, even though it meant they were smushed up against the spider-tissue.  “Another time, maybe.”

I heard him inhale deeply, and I tried not to feel bad about it.  I turned my head a little, not really looking at him but somewhere to his left, and offered, “I think Merrill wants to have dinner at her place sometime soon.”

My sentence hung awkwardly in the air, as the two of us walked back towards his house, but I didn’t know how to complete it.

“That sounds nice.”  He sounded sad, but that was only because I knew him too well.

“Um,” I tried to think, hovering in between walking past his house and pausing to say something to him.  The end result was that I stumbled slightly over my own feet, catching myself quickly, and then standing on the sidewalk like a blatantly uncomfortable loser.  Hawke looked at me, standing upright with his hands shoved into his pockets like me, and waited. 

“Maybe you – uh, bring me coffee at work tomorrow and I’ll call us even?” I laughed slightly, dying inside, and starting backing away, rubbing at the shaved part of my hair with one jerky movement of my hand. 

“Alright,” Hawke replied, and I think he smiled briefly, but my eyes were flicking all over, never settling on one thing, so I couldn’t really tell for sure.  Then, I was nodding and turning back around, sending Hawke a quick wave from over my shoulder, eager to get away from this whole situation.

“Okay, great!  See ya!”

He didn’t say anything back, though that might have been because I was walking away pretty quickly, but it still hit me anyways. 

I tried to ignore the beating in my chest, and the slick way my hands were pressed together in the safety of my hoodie pocket once again, the spider-tissue breaking apart from the sweat. 

I walked faster.

 

* * *

 

I didn’t end up telling Isabela about the spider thing.

They all found out regardless, and I tried not to think about what Hawke had told them.

And, he did bring me coffee to work (black, one sugar), but he didn’t stay long.  I was busy, and I knew he probably had work to do too, so it was just a hi-bye thing. 

It wasn’t until much later, when I was nestled amongst stacks of books, organizing them and making sure the stickers on their spines were correct, that I realized the name on the side of the cup read “Fitzy”. 

 

* * *

 

“You’re an ex-delinquent with a record, who now works at a top-notch library,” Sovin was saying, one hand poised in front of him as if it would help get his point across.  “And he’s a foreign billionaire who rose up from poverty and is now the owner of a nice chain of successful and popular cafés.”

“He’s not a billionaire,” I muttered, crossing out a whole line of words on the paper in front of me without even bothering to look up at my friend, who was leaning obnoxiously over the counter to talk to me, ignoring the fact that he was technically working.

“A millionaire, then,” he said back sarcastically.  “It’s a match made in story-book heaven, so why the hell are you sitting in this rundown place and not at your boyfriend’s gourmet café, where I bet you’d be getting free coffee in the bucket loads?”

I slammed my pen down, looking up at Sovin’s unimpressed face with a small glare, and replied, “Okay, it’s _ex_ -boyfriend, emphasis on the ‘ex’, and I’m sitting here because I wanted to talk to my nice friend Sovin, but since he’s being a complete _dick_ , I might as well go _home_.”

Sovin just raised an eyebrow.  “You’re not denying the free coffee thing, though.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a groan.  “I like this coffee better.”  I nudged the chipped mug in front of me.

“No, you don’t,” he scoffed.  “We don’t even have hazelnut syrup, and – yes, I know you secretly love sugary sweet coffee and you only drink this bitter crap to torture yourself – I also know you’re just sitting here because you’re avoiding something.  Your feelings or your friends, I don’t know which.”

“You’re my only friend,” I said with a pout, widening my eyes at him.  He wasn’t having it though, and the disgusted look he sent me made me give it up real quick.  “Okay, fine.  I’m avoiding both of those things.”

“Shit, Fitz,” Sovin sighed, getting off the counter as a rare customer walked through the door, “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

I grumbled something, hunching back over with the intent of going back to the papers spread out in front of me.  The research section of our library needed upgrading pretty badly, so I’d been tasked with making a proposal on how to redesign it, even though it was a bit above me. 

Guzzling down the last of the so called bitter crap in front of me, I checked the time, noticing at least three different texts sitting on my homescreen like some kind of twenty-first century sign of foreboding.  A sinister reminder of the fact that I was currently ignoring reality and the concerns of my friends.

 

* * *

 

“Fitz, I swear, if you don’t answer the fuc – oh, good, you little shit.  Were you planning on ignoring us forever?”

I cringed as Isabela’s voice rose, tone annoyed and accusatory, and almost regretted picking up the phone.

“I was working.”

“It’s nine o’ clock at night, and the library is closed.  Try again.”

“I was – ugh.  Whatever,” I mumbled, shifting my grip on the phone, and checking the street for incoming cars before crossing.  “What d’ya want?”

“ _What do I want_?” was her rather shrill reply.  “I would _like_ to know why you’ve been shirking all of our calls and texts lately.  And why the hell you think it’s alright to ignore me, of all people?”

“Bela, lay off,” I whined back.  “I’ve been really busy.”

“Too busy to celebrate your birthday?” she asked, completely unforgiving.  “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you to plan a date, but you’ve been absolutely impossible.  Did you think we were going to let you just spend your birthday on your own?  _By yourself_?”

“Wouldn’t be alone,” I said, giving the finger to the guy who almost ran me over as I crossed yet another street.  He returned the favor, with the added bonus of some yelled insults at my personal being.  “I’ve got Iron Man.”

“Your _cat_ is not a good replacement for human company, you sad little man,” Isabela scoffed.  “And that little rat isn’t going to bake you a beautiful cake like Merrill is either.”

“Don’t call Iron Man a rat, he’s sensitive about his looks,” I replied, just to hear her groan on the other line.  “And I told Merrill not to worry about it.  I don’t wanna celebrate my birthday.  Not that you guys are _listening_ or anything.”

“We’re giving you a birthday party whether you like it or not.  Just the seven of us and your little demonic beast of a cat, and since you haven’t been replying to the group chat, which I’m assuming means you haven’t even read them, we’ve decided on Friday evening,” I opened my mouth to object, but Isabela, probably anticipating my dissent, spoke over me, “Expect us to arrive at seven.  And, for crying out loud, clear off your damned table for once.”

She hung up, and I stared at my phone like it’d just tried to kill me.

“She sounds pissed, man,” some guy said from the stoop next to me, which I had absent-mindedly stopped in front of when Isabela began that last tirade.  There was a small pile of rolled joints sitting on his lap, but I ignored those.  “What the fuck you do?”

“Bro, I don’t even know,” I replied, helplessly.

The guy shook his head, and went back to rolling paper, and said, “Stupid, man.  You must’ve fucked up something _bad_.”

“Is that a cop?”

The guy jerked, scrambling to hide his shit, and he didn’t realize my lie until I was already a few feet away.

“Yo!  Not cool, man!”

It was small, but it made me laugh.

 

* * *

 

Two days after Isabela’s angry call, I was sitting in the living room of my tiny apartment in front of the table Isabela had ordered me to clear off.  I’d shoved off the stacks of books that had once laid on top of it, along with a few articles of clothing that I must’ve absentmindedly tossed onto the thing, placing them into the corner of the only other room in my apartment; my bedroom.  I’d even wiped the table down before dragging it out of my kitchen, which was far too small to hold a party of seven, and situating it in the center of my living room.  My living room was actually pretty sparse, so I had no worries that we’d all be comfortable enough (space-wise) and I even plugged in one of those wall-scent things that Merrill had given me ages ago.

So, with my apartment clean and smelling like apples, I laid down on my couch and waited for seven o’ clock to come with only a small feeling of dread sitting in my stomach.  I’d warmed to the idea of celebrating my birthday just a bit in the past few days, enough to not feel completely put out by it, but I still felt uncomfortable by it.  I didn’t celebrate my birthday often.

Merrill was the first to arrive, which was predictable, and her entrance was accompanied with a long string of words that I was far too accustomed with to be taken off guard by.

“Fitz!” she exclaimed as soon as I opened the door for her, grabbing me into a hug even though I was stepping aside to let her in and she was holding a giant bag in both hands.  I put my hands underneath the bag, steadying it when she shifted her hold so that she could wrap one arm around my back and squeeze. 

“It was very mean of you to be so difficult about this, you know – _as_ _if_ I wouldn’t be making you a cake.  This is the first time I’ve had the chance to!”  Merrill squinted up at me, eyes sharp, and continued, “You’re _never_ here on your birthday.”

“Sorry,” I offered, taking the bag off her hands completely and venturing further into my apartment.  Merrill closed the door for me and followed, waving away my weak apology immediately.

“Never you mind.  I’m just so happy you’ve agreed to all this!  I made your favorite,” she placed a hand on the bag, and the cake that must be inside of it, “Here, let me.  It needs to go in the fridge.  You have room, yes?”

“Oh – haha, yes, but I got it.  Don’t worry ‘bout it!”  I rushed to my kitchen, hoping to get the cake inside my fridge before Merrill could see anything, but it was a fruitless effort. 

“What are yo – Fitz!  You have nothing!”  Merrill was right at my back as I tried to slide the entire bag into my sad fridge, and it would’ve fit too (bag and all), if she hadn’t taken it from me.  Her admonishment came swiftly once she placed the bag on the counter right next to my fridge, while I stood there with the fridge door pressing against my arm.

“I have your present in here, too, and that doesn’t belong in a fridge, silly!” she explained, taking the container with the cake out and handing it over to me.  I took it dutifully and deposited it into my empty fridge, closing the door quickly afterwards.  “What have I told you about keeping a stocked fridge?  Do you even have milk?” Merrill eyed me incredulously, hands on her hips, and didn’t even give me a chance to answer her apparently rhetorical questions.  “What on earth have you been eating for dinner?  And if you say ‘ramen’, I _will_ smack you.”

Merrill whirled around, and began opening cabinets at random, looking for where I kept my food.  I cringed when she found the cabinet holding ramen and chips.  There were probably a couple things of canned vegetables and soup, but that wasn’t good enough for Merrill either.

“I knew I should’ve come earlier,” she said, shaking her head.  “I don’t have time to take you shopping now.”

“Mer – I eat a lot of takeout, and I buy stuff from the market, so that’s obviously not gonna sit around for long,” I explained, in the hope that she’d just forget about it.  “I’ve just been too busy to do anything but work.”

“That’s what you told Bela,” Merrill commented, frowning a me.  I could have groaned, and probably would’ve if there wasn’t a knock on my door just then. 

Merrill brightened up immediately, giving me hope that she was going to be too distracted to continue this, and said, “Oh!  I’ll get it!”

She scurried past me, and I followed her a few steps to see who it was.

Hawke and Varric walked in, and my stomach didn’t exactly plummet, but it was close. 

“Yo,” I waved at them from my spot near the couch, trying not to lean against it awkwardly.  “What’s up?”

Hawke blinked at me, and the smile on his face from greeting Merrill actually didn’t fall at the sight of me; it grew.  “Ah, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?  I was wondering if you’d actually be here.”

“It’s _my_ place,” I said, squinting at him.

“And what a place it is, Scholar,” Varric said, looking around.  I realized all of a sudden that most of them hadn’t actually been here before.  Aside from Isabela, only Merrill had visited me here, and between the both of them, that only made for about five visits total in the entire year since I’d returned to Kirkwall.

I’d only let them in because they practically forced me to.  Even Hawke hadn’t been around, not even after we made up and everything.  I’m sure it killed him not to see where I lived, but he didn’t push. 

Outside of the spider incident, he _never_ pushed anymore.

I could see Hawke eyeing my place just like Varric was, though he was trying to be more discrete about it.  I didn’t get to see if he showed any reaction to it, because right then I had more pressing matters at hand.  Like the woman who appeared from behind the two men and who was now angrily striding towards me.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday, runt,” she spat at me, even though I had nearly a foot on her, and then she sent an amazing jab to my gut, making me gasp for air.

“Bela, you can’t hit him on his birthday,” Merrill chastised, as if she hadn’t just threatened to smack me a minute ago.

“If one of you’s say ‘birthday’, one more time,” I wheezed, edging away from Isabela. 

“Happy Birthday, Fitzy,” Hawke said with a wide grin, and I shot him a scowl.

“I don’t know why you didn’t take me up on my offer, Scholar,” Varric said, evidently not giving up on the room thing.  “That apartment I had for you was much nicer than this shithole.”

“Dude, we like it just fine here, thank you,” I replied, stressing my words.  “Iron Man likes the aroma of hotdogs that wafts up from the cart that sets up out front.”

Varric made a face.  “You still have that thing?”

“Oh!  I forgot about your cat,” Merrill exclaimed, looking around as if she thought the animal was hiding in the room with us.  “Where is he?”

“My room.  He hates Bela, and I don’t wanna torture him or nothin’,” I told her, even though Bela aimed another elbow at my stomach for it.

As if on cue, Iron Man let out an almighty yowl, and I winced as I imagined the possibility of seeing shredded sheets tonight.  Varric gave me a skeptical look.

“When I told you about the ‘foster a cat’ system, you weren’t supposed to adopt the only creature alive that’s more trouble than _you_ ,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Iron Man is a kind and gracious little guy.”

A thump, and a crash, issued from the back of my apartment, coming from my room, and everyone looked at me in turn. 

“It’s okay.  There’s nothin’ to break in there,” I told them, matter-o-factly.

“Where’s the rest of us?” Hawke asked everybody, taking the attention off of my problematic cat.  “They’re late.”

“Aveline’s on her way,” Isabela told us, looking at her phone, “Fenris, too.  Anders is being a little bitch, though.”

I almost groaned.  “Anders is coming?”

Isabela gave me a look.  “If you read the group chat, you’d have known that already.”

“Ugh.”  I threw myself down onto the couch, trying to look unaffected.  Anders hadn’t quite forgiven me for leaving, or for breaking up with Hawke, so it was sure to be an uncomfortable night, just in case I had any doubts whatsoever earlier. 

Most of them had been sore with me when I left Hawke, and quite literally left Kirkwall for two years with absolutely no word in between, but they’d come to accept it, and I would say they’d forgiven me for the most part, even if it was certainly far from forgotten.  After Anders, Aveline had taken the longest to get over my transgressions, but I think that had more to do with Hawke forgiving me than anything.  Once Hawke was cool, she was too.  Anders, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit if Hawke was okay with me.  Hopefully, he’d be civil at the very least.

I stiffened slightly when Hawke sat down next to me.

He grinned at me.  “Don’t worry.  If Anders tries to go for the jugular, just tell him about Iron Man.  We won’t see him for the rest of the night.”

Tentatively, I smiled back.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t sing when Merrill brought the cake out, though Isabela tried to force it.

Instead I just blew out the candles, and cut the cake, relieved that I didn’t have to endure any of that.

And the cake really was good.  I didn’t know how Merrill even knew I had a favorite type of cake, but it was carrot cake and it was just about the best thing I’d ever eaten.

“When was the last time you had a cake as great as this?”  Hawke asked, grinning widely at what must have been the funny expression on my face.

“Hah, probably when I was, like, seven.”  I said it without thinking, and I was laughing, but nobody else joined in.

“No one is laughing, because we all have a feeling that’s true, Scholar,” Varric informed me, expression easy-going enough, if one didn’t look at the strain in his smile.

“Oh.”  It was true, but I didn’t say that.  And, apparently, I didn’t have to.  “Merrill, thank you.  The cake is great.”

“A-anytime, Fitz,” she said, with a jumble of emotion in her voice that had me trying not to cringe. 

Hawke slapped me on the back.  “Now look at what you did.  You’re making Merrill cry.”

“I am _not_ crying, Hawke,” Merrill shot back, though she was wiping her eyes.  “Fitz, how could you not have cake on your _birthday_?”

“Merrill, it’s not a big deal,” I insisted.  “My – my family wasn’t big on birthdays.  It’s cool.”

She didn’t agree with me, I don’t think anybody did, but she let it go.

“Well, this is depressing,” Isabela commented, sounding distasteful, “Here.”

She chucked a small, neatly wrapped box at me, which I just barely caught, and continued, “Why don’t we open gifts rather than think about your devastating childhood?”

I flushed, ears growing hot at the jab at my past, but nodded anyways.  “Okay.”

I hadn’t been expecting gifts, not that I was going to tell them that.  Thankfully, it wasn’t much.

Isabela had gotten me a bracelet, similar to the worn, weaved ones that I always had on my wrists. 

Aveline gave me a card with money it, Merrill’s present was a warm-looking sweater, and even Fenris got me something; a picture-filled book on street art.  Varric got me a journal, one of the recycled paper ones that looks all hand-crafted and shit, and he even added this fancy pen to go with it.  Anders didn’t get me anything, which didn’t surprise me, and neither did Hawke, which I have to admit _did_ surprise me.  I didn’t show it though.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling uncomfortable because of the emotion trying to crawl up my throat.  I shifted, hoping my voice wouldn’t crack.  “You guys rock.”

“Of course, Fitz,” Merrill replied, eyes wet.  “We’re so happy you’re back.”

“It’s been a year, kitten,” Isabela mumbled, nudging her girlfriend.  “He’s been back for a while now.”

“Yes, but –”  Merrill looked around the table, hands clasped to her chest.  “We’ve never all been together like this since – well, it’s been a while, no?  And we’ve never been able to celebrate your birthday like this, Fitz.  It makes me so happy that we’re all together again.”

“Aw, jeez, Merrill,” I muttered, reaching out to play with the box that came with Isabela’s bracelet.  I didn’t know what else to say though, so I was relieved when Hawke took over for me.

“I agree, Merrill,” he said with a smile.  “I think we’ve all had a rough few years.”  Hawke lifted the glass he was drinking from high in the air.  “Here’s to the calm lives we all deserve.”

“Speak for yourself,” Aveline muttered into her own drink, as everyone else toasted to Hawke’s words.  “I don’t think the station will ever calm down.  Nor will the crime in this city.”

Hawke snickered.  “Aw, my dear Captain, police work grating on your nerves these days, eh?  Want to talk about it?”

Aveline scowled back, and retorted, “You shove right off.  And stop bringing my cops donuts every morning.  They’re good, but we know the joke you’re making.”

“A joke?  About cops and donuts?” Hawke gasped, appalled.  “I would _never_!”

The tension eased out of the room quickly after that, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  It was hard enough pretending everything was normal between all of us, without someone actively pointing out the schism that was causing everything to be all not-normal.  And it was hard enough that a lot of that damned schism had to do with me being an asshole.  I mean, the others were assholes, too.  Isabela skipped town a few times, and there was a while where absolutely _no one_ wanted to be near Anders (and to be honest, I think something happened while I was away but I’m too afraid to ask what).  So, I’m just saying, I’m not the only jerk in this friend group.  I’m just kind of one of the biggest…I guess.

“Hawke, Aveline is right,” Fenris said, looking at Hawke unamused.  “If I have to walk past one more table of donuts, I might have to strangle you.”

“But, I make your favorite,” Hawke practically simpered, pouting.  “Want you to start your day with a nice breakfast, my little cops.”

Fenris looked so disgusted by Hawke’s endearment, I couldn’t hold back a snort, which earned me twin glares from the cops in the room.  The others were laughing, too, so they had a lot of nasty looks to give.

“Hawke, you could at least give them something healthier,” Merrill suggested, looking aghast at the idea of eating donuts every day.

“Stop encouraging him,” Aveline ordered, at her wits end.  “I have cops coming to my office, asking if it’s an inside joke or pure mockery.”

“Varric, control him,” Fenris added, giving the other man a severe stare.

Varric held up his hands, helplessly.  “I tell him every day, we could sell those instead, but does he listen to me?  Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know what you two are whining about,” Isabela sniffed.  “At least he visits you at work.”

“Isabela, lethallin,” Merrill consoled, patting her girlfriend’s arm, “you don’t have a job.”

Everybody laughed, because it was true.  Isabela hadn’t worked a fulltime, or part-time, job in probably forever, and the innocent way Merrill pointed it out was too much.

“The point is,” Isabela’s voice rose among the laughter, “where are _my_ free donuts?”

“You don’t need any donuts,” Anders groused from the opposite end of the table, face propped up on his hand.  “It’s clear just from looking at you.”

Isabela gasped, and looked at Merrill to say, “He wants me to slap him.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Hawke said, reaching over Varric to slap a palm against the side of Anders’ head.  “Bela, you know I’d give you free food whenever you stop by the café.”

Isabela sighed, looking put out.  “Yes but, sweetness, that would require going to that swanky place you call a café.  It’s more like a five-star restaurant.”

“It is not,” Hawke replied, looking affronted.  “What’s wrong with my café?”

“Nothin’,” I put in, shaking my head as Isabela’s antics.  “Bela just can’t step into a five-mile radius of streets not filled with piss and last night’s garbage.  If it’s not a dive-hole, she can’t enter.  She’s like a vampire.”

I dodged a hit, but Isabela was too far away to do any real damage anyway so it was kind of a useless spasm on my part. 

“Kitten, he wants me to slap him, too.  Can you believe this?  Men.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t as awkward saying goodbyes as I’d feared.  Even Anders was nice, and I didn’t want to admit it, but I felt a bit warmer when he actually smiled at me, probably for the first time since I’d been back in Kirkwall.  I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t an important person to me.  I mean, the guy practically helped raise me when I was just a kid fucking around in the worst parts of the city. 

I would have liked to say that Varric was the last to leave, departing with a smile and a promise to visit more, but he wasn’t.  Hawke hadn’t left yet.

The man hovered in my living room, hands in his pockets as he inspected the place, as if he hadn’t been sitting in it for the past few hours.

“Nothin’ interesting to look at,” I said, still leaning against my doorway, front door wide open.  “Um…so –”

“It’s nice,” Hawke said, turning around to smile at me.  “Needs more pictures, of course.  I’m surprised you don’t have any up.”

I shifted, rubbing the back of my neck.  “I’ve been meaning to…”

“But, you’re too busy,” Hawke finished for me, an uncomfortably knowing look sitting in his eyes.  “Merrill said you don’t even keep food in here.  Really, Fitz?”

His tone was joking, and I really should’ve known Merrill would’ve gotten that information back to Hawke, without even opening her mouth to everyone else, but as it was, my only reaction was to roll my eyes.

“Merrill worries too much.”

“You know, I don’t think she does,” Hawke said, taking a step forward, going around the table as he moved.  “You’re looking a little ragged these days.”

“I need to take less hours,” I explained.  “And sleep more.”

“You sleeping alright?”

My eyes darted up to his, knowing exactly what he meant.  The ‘no’ was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t get it out.  The opposite, a big fat ‘yes’, couldn’t get out either, so at least I didn’t flat-out lie to him.  Instead, I didn’t say anything at all and Hawke got me anyways.

“You can tell me when your nightmares start acting up, you know that,” Hawke said, softly and earnestly.  He was standing in front of me now, leaning his head down the slightest bit, trying to catch my eye.

“It’s not a big deal,” I insisted, but my words sounded hollow, even to me.

“Fitz –” Hawke brought his hand up, and had only rested it in my hair for a split second before I jerked away from him.

“Hawke, not – not now,” I said, spitting my words a bit as I stuttered over them.  Hawke took a step back, still watching me carefully, and I noted how he made sure to lower his hand slowly.

“I’m here, Fitz.  Always,” he said after a quiet, devastating moment.  “I just want you to _talk_ to me.”

“I don’t wa –”

“You don’t want to talk,” Hawke finished sadly, and even his eyes seemed to droop, “Yeah, I know.”

It wasn't so much an end of an argument as it was Hawke backing down.  Years ago, he might've gotten mad or disappointed, he would've fought more, but now he just seemed resigned.  And, it's not that I didn't feel bad - I felt _awful_ \- but, words never came easy to me and I was never good at opening up to people, not even to Hawke and I _love_ him.  I screwed up pretty good back when I left, and it just didn't feel right to force myself back into Hawke's life with all my problems and baggage.  He was too good for that.

Hawke didn't deserve it, but I let him walk out of my apartment with only a quiet goodbye and when the door shut behind him, I grabbed the bottle of wine that Isabela had left on the table and tried not to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently working on the next chapter of Two for the Road, while also rebooting NMS, which I won't be posting until I have a few chapters done ! If you guys wanna read more modern aus (or whatever!), let me know. I have about...4 unpublished ones sitting in my Fitz folder rn ; )


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